








LIBRARY OF CONGR ESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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SOPHIE MAY’S 

LITTLE FOLKS’ BOOKS. 

Any volume sold separately. 

DOTTY DIMPLE SERIES. — Six volumes. Illustrated. 

Per volume, 75 ceuts. 

Dotty Dimple at her Grandmother’s. 

Dotty Dimple at Home. 

Dotty Dimple out West. 

Dotty Dimple at Play. 

Dotty Dimple at School. 

Dotty Dimple’s Flyaway, 

FLAXIE FRIZZLE STORIES. -Six volumes. Ulus- 
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LITTLE PRUDY STORIES. — Six volumes. Hand, 
somely Illustrated. Per volume, 75 cents. 

Little Prudy. 

Little Prudy’s Sister Susy. 

Little Prudy’s Captain Horace. 

Little Prudy’s Story Book. 

Little Prudy’s Cousin Grace. 

Little Prudy’s Dotty Dimple 

LITTLE PRUDY’S FLYAWAY SERIES. -Six 

volumes. Illustrated. Per volume, 75 cents. 

Little Folks Astray. Little Grandmother. 

Prudy Keeping House. Little Grandfather. 

Aunt Madge’s Story. Miss Thistledown 


LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS, 
BOSTON. 



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Captain Horace. 





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LITTLE PKUDY SEKIES. 


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CAPTAII^ HORACE. 


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-S I;, 

BOSTON 1893 

LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS 

10 MILK STREET NEXT “ THE OLD SOUTH MEETING HOUSE” 

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Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by 
LEE & SHEPARD, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
Copyright, 1892, by Rebecca S. Clarke. 

Little Prudy’s Captain Horace. 




TO 


MY LITTLE NETHEW 

WILLY WHEELER. 


FROM HIS AFFECTIONATE 


ATTNT. 


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P H E F A C E, 


Y I »u wide-awake little boys, who make whistles 
of willow, and go fishing ai.d training, — Horace 
is very much like yon, I sui)|)Osc. He is hy 
no means perfect, hut he is brave and kind, and 
scorns a lie. I hope yoA and he will shake 


hands and be friends. 


CONTENTS 


•■APTIft PAGE 

I, Making Candy, 5 

II. Camping Out, 15 

III, Taking a Journey, ;i3 

IV. At Grandpa Tarlin’s, • 19 

V. Captain of a Company, 68 

VI. Susy and Prudy, 87 

VII. In the VV'oods, 99 

VIII. Captain Clifford, . . . . . .117 

IX. The Blue Book, 128 

X. Trying to get rich, 141 

XI. The Little Indian, 149 

XII. A Pleasant Surprise 167 

( 6 ) 


CvVPIAIN HORACE 


CHAPTER I. 

MAKING CAJSTDY. 

Grace and Horace Cliiford lived i}i In- 
diana, and so were called "Iloosiers.” 

Their home, with its charming grounds, 
was a little way out of town, and from the 
front windows of the house you could look 
out on the broad Ohio, a river which would 
be very beautiful, if its yellow waters were 
only once settled. As far as the eye could 
see, the earth was one vast plain, and, in 
order to touch it, the sky seemed to stoop 
very low ; whereas, in New England, the 
gra} -headed mountains appear to go up part 
wav to meet the sky. _ 


CAITAIN IIOllACE. 


(•* 

One fine evening in May, brown-eyeci 
Iloraee and bliic-e} ed Graee stood on tli? 
i)alcony, leaning against the iron railing, 
watching the stars, and chatting together 

One thing is very sure : they never dreamed 
that from this evening their sayings and do- 
ings — particularly Horace’s — were to hr 
printed in a book. If any one had whis- 
pered such a thing, how dumb Horace would 
have groAvn, his chin snuggling down into 
a hollow place in his neck ! and how ner- 
vously Grace would have laughed ! Avalking 
about very fast, and saying, — 

*'0, it’s too bad, to put Horace and me 
in a book! I say it’s too liad 1 Tell them' 
to wait till my hair is curled, and I have 
my new pink dress on I And tell them tc 
make Horace talk better ! He plays s(s 
much Muth the Dutch boys. O, Horace isi.’r 
•it to print I” 


MAKING C.VNDY. 


7 


This is -what she might have said if she 
had thought of being " put in a book ; ” but 
as she knew nothing at all about it, she 
only stood very quietly leaning against tlie 
balcony-railing, and looking up at the even- 
ing sky, merry with stars. 

" What a shiny night, Horace ! What do 
the stars look like ? Is it diamond rings ? ” 

"I’ll tell you, Grade ; it’s cigars they look 
like — just the ends of cigars when some- 
body is smoking.” 

At that moment the cluster called tlie 
" Seven listers ” was drowned in a soft, 
white cloud. 

"Look,” said Grace ; "there are some little 
twinkles gone to sleep, all tucked up in a 
coverlet. I don’t see what makes you think 
of dirty cigars ! They looK to me like little 
specks of gold harps ever so far off, so you 
can’t hear the music. O, Horace, don’t you 


8 


CAPTAIN IIOKACE. 


want to be an angel, and play on a beautifui 
harp ? 

' I don’t know,” said her lirother, knitting 
his brows, and thinking a moment ; " when 1 
can’t live any longer, yon know, then I’d like 
to go up to heaven ; but now, I’d a heap 
sooner be a soldier! 

”0, Horace, you’d ought to rather be an 
angel ! Besides, you’re too little for a 
soldier ! ” 

" But I grow. Just look at my hands ; 
they’re bigger than yours, this minute!” 

Why, Horace Clifford, what makes them 

BO blacks’ 

" O, thafs no account ! I did it climlnn’ 
trees. Barby tried to scour it off, but it 
igtieks. I don’t care — soldiers’ hands ain’t 
white, are they, Pincher?” 

The pretty dog at Horace’s feet shook hrj 
cars, meaning to say, 


MAKING CANDY. 




” I should think not, little master ; soldiers 
have very dirty hands, if yon say so.'’ 

" Come,” said Grace, who was tired ol 
gazing at the far-ofi’ star-land ; ” let’s go 
down and see if Barbara hasn’t made that 
candy ; she said she’d be ready in half an 
hour.” 

They went into the library, which o})ened 
upon the balcony, through the passage, 
down the front stairs, and into the kitchen, 
Pincher following <;losc at their heels. 

. It was a very tidy kitchen, whose white 
floor was scoured every day Avith a scrub- 
bing-brush. Bright tin pans Avcre shining 
upon the walls, and in one corner stood a 
highly polished cooking-stove, over whicli 
Barbara Kinckle, a rosy-cheeked German 
girl, was stooping to Avatch a kettle of 
boding molasses. Every noAv and then 
she raised the spoon Avith Avhich she Avas 


10 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


etirriiig it, and let the half-made cand\ 
drip l)aek into the kettle in ropy sti-eams 
It looked very tempting, and gave out a 
dell ious odor. Perhaps it Avas not strange 

:hat the children thought they were kept 

% 

waiting a long Avliile. 

''Lock here, Grace,” muttered Horace, 
loud rnough for Barbara to hear; "don’t 3am 
think she’s just the slowest kind?” 

"It’ll sugar off,” said Grace, calmly, as 
if she had made up her mind for the worst ; 
" don’t 3’ou know how it sugared off once 
when ma was making it, and let the fire 
go 'most out’?” 

" Now just hear them childers,” said good- 
natured Barbara ; " where’s the little boy and 
"irl that Avasai’t to speak to me one word, 
if I l)iled ’em some candies?” 

"There, now, Barby, I wasn’t speaking to 
vou,” said Horace ; "I mean I wasn’t talking 


MAKIXO CANDY. 


11 


to ker^ Grace. Look here : I’ve heard you 
hpell, but you didn’t ask, me my Joggerphy.”' 

•' Geo(p'cvphij ^ you mean, Horace.” 

" Well, Gc-ography, then'. Here’s the 
book : \vc begin at the iMohammedans.” 

Horace could pronounce that long name 
very well, though he had no idea what it 
meant. He knew there was a book called 
the Koran, and Avoidd have told you Mr. 
Mohammed wrote it ; but so had Mr. Col- 
burn written an Arithmetic, and Avhether 
both these gentlemen Avere alive, oi both 
dead, Avas more than he could say. 

” Hold up your head,” said Grace, Avith 
dignity, and looking as much as possible 
like tall Miss Allen, her teacher. " Please 
repeat your verse.” 

The first sentence read, "They consider 
Moses and Christ as true prophets, but 
Mohammed as the greatest and last. ' 


12 


CAl’T.VlX IIOKACB. 


I’ll tell you,” said Horace : " they think 
that Christ and oV^oses was good enough 
prophets, but ^Mohammed was a heap 
better.” 

” Why, Horace, it doesn’t say any such 
think in the book ! It begins, ' They 
consider.* ” ^ 

"I don’t care,” said the boy,' "Miss Jor- 
dan tells us to get the sense of it. Ma, 
inusn’t I get the sense of it?” he added, 
as Mrs. Cliflbrd entered the kitchen. 

" I>ut, mamma,” broke in Grace, eagerly, 
" our teacher wants us to commit the verses : 
she says a great deal about committing the 
verses.’’ 

" If you would give me time to answer,” 
said Mrs. Cliflbrd, smiling, " I should say 
both youi’ teachers are quite right. You 
should ' get the sense of it,’ as Horace 
says, and after that commit the verses.” 


MAKING CANDY. 


13 


"But, ma, do you think Horace should 
say 'heap,’ and 'no account,’ and such 
words?” 

" It would certainly please me,” said Mrs. 
Clifford, "if he would try to speak more 
correctly. My little boy knows how much 
I dislike some of his expressions.” 

" Ihere, Horace,” cried Grace, trium- 
phantly, " I always said you talked just 
like the Dutch' boys ; and it*s very, very 
improper ! ” 

But just then it became evident that the 
molasses was boiled enough, for Barbara 
poured it into a large buttered platter, and 
set it out of doors to cool. After this, the 
children could do nothing but watch the 
candy till it was ready to pull. 

Then there W’as quite a bustle to hud an 
apron for Horace, and to make sure that his 
little stained hands were "spandy clean," 


14 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


and " fluffed ” all over with flour, from hii 
wrists to the tips of his fingers. Grace 
said she wished it wasn’t so much trouble 
to attend to boys ; and, after all, Horace 
only pulled a small piece of the candy, and 
dropped half of that on the nice white floor. 

Barbara did the most of the pulling. She 
was quite a sculptor when she had plastic 
candy in her hands. Some of it she cut 
into sticks, and some she twisted into curi- 
ous images, supposed to be boys and girls, 
horses and sheep. 

After Grace and Horace had eaten several 
of the "boys and girls,” to say nothing of 
"handled baskets,” and "gentlemen’s slip- 
pers,” Barbara thought it high time they 
were "sound abed and asleep.” 

So now, as they go up stairs, we will 
wish them a good night and pleasant 
dreams. 


«'AMl"iNG our. 


Ifi 


CHAPTER 11. 

CAMPING OUT. 

is the matter with little son?^ 
Mr. Cliftbrd, .one morning at^ breakfast ; 
for Horace sat np very stiffly in his chair, 
mid refused both eggs and mufflns, choos- 
ing instead a slice of dry toast and a glass 
of water. 

" Are you sick, Horace ? ” asked his 
mother, tenderly. 

"No, ma’am,” replied the boy, blushing; 
"but 1 want to get to be a soldier!” 

Mr. Clifford and his wife looked at each 
other across the table, and smiled. 

"O, papa,” said Grace, "I shouldn't want 

2 


16 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


to be a soldier if I couldn’t have anything 
nice to eat. Can’t they get pies and canned 
peaches and things? Will they go without 
buckwheat cakes and sirup in the winter?” 

" Ah ! iny little daughter, men who lovo 
their countiy are willing to make greater 
sacrifices than merely nice food.” 

Horace put on one of his lofty looks, for he 
somehow felt that his father was praising him. 

"Pa,” said Grace, "please tell me what’s 
a sacrifice, anyhow?” 

" A sacrifice, my daughter, is the giving 
up of a dear or pleasant thing for the sake 
of duty : that is very nearly what it means. 
For instance, if your mamma consents to 
let me go to the war, because she thinks I 
ought to go, she will make what is called a 
sacrifice.” 

" Do not let us speak of it now, Henry,” 
said ]\Irs. Clifford, looking quite pale. 


CAMPING OUT. 


17 


” O, my dear papa,” cried Grace, burstinc 
into tears, " we couldn’t live if you went to 
the war ! ” 

Horace looked at the acorn on the lid of 
the coffee-urn, but said nothing. It cost his 
little heart a pang even to think of parting 
from his beloved father ; but then wouldn’t 
it be a glorious thing to hear him called 
General Clifford? And if he should really 
go away, wasn’t it likely that the oldest 
boy, Horace, would take his place at the 
head of the table? 

Yes, they should miss papa terribly ; but 
he would only stay away till he " got a gen- 
eral ; ” and for that little while it would bo 
pleasant for Horace to sit in the arm-chaii 
and help the others to the butter, the toast, 
and the meat. 

" Horace,” said Mr. Clifford, smiling, ” it 
will be some years before you can be a 


18 


CAPTAIN HOP ACE. 


soldier: why do you begin now to eat dry 
In-eul?” 

" I want to get used to it, sir.’' 

'' That indeed ! ” said Mr. Clifford, with 
A good-natured laugh, which made Horace 
wince a little. " But the eating of dry bread 
is only a small part of the soldier’s tough 
times, my boy. Soldiers have to sleep on 
the hard ground, with knapsacks for pillows ; 
they have to march, through wet and dry, 
with heavy muskets, which make their arms 
ache.” 

" Look here, Barby,” said Horace, that 
evening ; "I want a knapsack, to learn to be 
a soldier with. If I have ' tough times’ now. 
I’ll get used to it. Can’t you lind m 
carpet-bag, Barby?” 

Caq^et-bag? And what for a thing ig 
tliat i ” said Barbara, rousing from a nan, 
ttiid beginning to click her knitting-needles. 


CAMPING OUT. 


n 

Plerc I was asleep again. Now, if I ciul 
keep working in the kitchen, I could sit up 
just what time I wants to ; hut when I sits 
down, I goes to sleep right oti*.” 

And Barbara went on knitting, putting 
the yarn over the needle Avith her left hand, 
after the German fashion. 

" But the carpet-bag, Barby : there’s a 
black one ' some place,’ in the trunk-closet 
or up-attic. Now, Barby, you know I 
helped pick those quails yesterday.” 

"Yes, yes, dear, when I gets my eyes 
open.” 

"I would sleep out doors, but ma says 
I’d get cold; so I’ll lie on the floor in the 
bathing-room. O, Barby, I’ll sleep like a 
trooper ! ” 

But Horace was a little mistaken. A 
hard, unyielding floor makes a poor bed; 
and when, at the same time, one's neck ia 


20 


CAPTAIN IJOIIACE. 


almost put out of joint by a carpet-bag 
stuffed with newspaper, it is not easy to 
go to sleep. 

In a short time the little boy began to 
feel tired of ” camping out ; ” and I am sorry 
to say that he employed some of the moon- 
light hours in studying the workmanship of 
his mother’s watch, which had been left, by 
accident, hanging on a nail in the bathing- 
room. 

He felt very guilty all the while ; and 
when, at last, a chirr-chirr from the watch 
told that mischief had been done, his heart 
gave a quick throb of fright, and he stole 
off to his chamber, undressed, and went to 
bed in the dark. 

Next morning he did not awake as early 
as usual, and, to his great dismay, came 
very near being late to breakfast. 

” Good morning, little buzzard-lark,” said 


CAMPING OUT. 


21 


his sister, coming into his room just as 
he M-as thrusting his arms into his jacket. 
IIo, Grade ! why didn’t you wake me up 

■' I spoke to you seven times, Horace.” 

” Well, why didn’t you pinch me, or shako 
me awake, or something?” 

"Why, Horace, then you’d have been 
cross, and said, 'Grade Clifford, let me 
alone!’ You know yon would, Horace.” 

The little boy stood by the looking-glass 
finishing his toilet, and made no reply . 

"Don’t you mean to behave?” said he, 
talking to his hair. "There, now, you’ve 
parted in the middle ! Do you ’spose I’m 
^oing to look like a girl? Part the way 
you ought to, and lie down smooth ! AYe’ll 

3ee which will beat ! ” 

"Why, what in the world is this?" ex> 
claimed Grace, as sometnmg heavy dripped 
her feet. 


22 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


It was her mother’s watch, which had 
fallen out of Horace’s poeket. 

"Where did yon get this watch?” 

No answer. 

" Why, Horace, it doesn’t tick : have you 
been playing with it?” 

Still no answer. 

" Now’, that’s just like yon, Horace, to 
shut yonr mouth right up tight, and not 
speak a word when you’re spoken to. I 
never saw such a boy ! I’m going dowm 
stairs, this very minute, to tell my mother 
you’ve been hurting her beautiful gold 
watch ! ” 

" Stop ! ” cried the boy, suddenly finding 
his voice ; " I reckon I can fix it ! I w’as 
meaning to tell ma ! I only w^antcd to see 
that little thing inside that ticks. I’ll bet 
I’ll fix it. I didn’t go to hurt it, Grace ! ” 

" O, yes, you feel like you could mend 


CAMPING OUT. 


23 


Matches, ahcl fire guns, and be soldiers and 
generals,” said Grace, shaking her ringlets ; 
" but I’m going right down to tell ma I ” 
Horace’s lips curled with scorn. 

"That’s right, Gracie ; run and tell!'’ 

" But, Horace, I ought to tell,” said Grace, 
meekly ; " it’s my duty ! Isn’t there a little 
voice at your heart, and don’t it say, you’ve 
done' wicked?” 

" There’s a voice there,” replied the boy, 
pertly; "bat it don’t say what you think 
it does. It says, ' If your pa finds out about 
the watch, av( n’t you catch it?’ ” 

To do Horace justice, he did mean to tell 
his mother. He had been taught to speak 
the truth, and the nhole truth, cost what 
it might. He knew that his parents could 
forgive almost anything sooner than a false- 
hood, or a cowardly concealment. Words 
car not tell how Mr. Cliftbrd hated deceit. . 


24 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


"When a lie tempts you, Horace,” sai^ 
he, " scorn it, if it looks ever so Avhite ! Put 
your foot on it, and crush it like a snake ! ” 

Horace ate dry toast again this morning, 
lilt no one seemed to notice it. If he had 
dared look up, he would have seen that his 
father and mother wore sorrowful faces. 

After breakfast, Mr. Cliftbrd called him 
into the library. In the first place, he took 
to pieces the mangled watch, and showed 
him how it had been injured. 

" Have you any right to meddle with 
things which belong to other people, my 
son?” 

Horace’s chin snuggled down ink) the 
hollow place in his neck, and he made no 
reply. 

"Answer me, Horace.” 

"No, sir.” 

" It will cost several dollars to pay for 


CAMPING OUT. 


25 


repairing this watch; don’t you think the 
little boy who did the mischief should give 
part of the money?” 

Horace looked distressed ; his face began 
to twist itself out of shape. 

"This very boy has a good many pieces 
of silver Avhich were given him to buy fire- 
crackers. So you see, if he is truly sorry 
for his fault, he knows the way to atone 
for it.” 

Horace’s conscience told him, by a twinge, 
that it would be no more than just for him 
to pay what he could for mending the 
watch. 

"Have you nothing to say to me, my 
child?” 

For, instead of speaking, the boy was 
working his features into as many shapes as 
if they had been made of gutta percha. Tliis 
was a bad habit of his, though-, Avhen ho 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


was doing it, he had no idea of '^making up 
faces.” 

Ilis father told him he would let him have 
the whole day to decide whether he ought 
to give up any of his money. A tear trem- 
bled in each of Horace’s eyes, but, before 
they could fall, he caught them ou his 
thumb and forefinger. 

"Now,” continued Mr. Clifford, "I have 
something to tell you. I decided last night 
to enter the army.” 

" O, iia,” cried Horace, springing up, 
eagerly; "mayn’t I go, too?” 

"You, my little son?” 

" Yes, pa,” replied Horace, clinging to 
his father’s knee. " Boys go to wait on the 
generals and things I I can wait on you. 
1 can comb your hair, and bring yom 
slippers. If 1 could be a waiter, I’d gu 
a flyiu’.” 


CAMPING OUT. 


27 


" Poor child,” laughed Mr. Cliftbrd, strok- 
ing Horace’s head, "you’re such a very little 
boy, only eight years old ! ” 

" I’m going on nine. I’ll be nine next 
NeAv Year’s Gift-day,” stammered Horace, 
the bright flush dying out of his cheeks. 
"O, pa, I don’t want you to go, if I can’t 
go too ! ” 

Mr. Clifford’s li])s trembled. He took the 
little boy on his knee, and told him how the 
country was in danger, and needed all its 
brave men. 

" I should feel a great deal easier about 
leaving my dear little family,” said he, "if 
Horace never disobeyed his mother; if he 
did not so often fall into mischief; if he 
M"as always sure to remember.” 

The boy’s neck was twisted around till 
his father could only sec the back of his 
head. 


28 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


"Look here, pa,” said he, at last, throw- 
ing out the words one at a time, as if every 
one weighed a whole iiouud ; " I’ll give ma 
that money ; I’ll do it to-day.” 

" That’s right, my boy ! that’s honest ! 
You have given me pleasure. Remember, 
when you injure the property of another, 
you should always make amends for it as 
well as you can. If you do not, you’re 
unjust and dishonest.” 

I will not repeat all that ISIr. Clifford said 
to his little son, Horace thought then he 
should never forget his father’s good advice, 
nor his own prf»mises. We shall see whethei 
he did or not. 

lie was a restless, often a very naughty 
lioy ; but when 'you looked at his broad 
forehead and truthful eyes, you felt that, 
back of all his faults, there was nobleness 
111 Ids boyish soul. His father often said. 



Mr. Clifford and his Son. Page 27 , 






CAMPING OUT. 


2 & 

He will either make something or notlu 
mg;” and his mother answered, ''Yes, 
there never will be any half-way place for 
Horace.” 

Now that Mr. Clifford had really en- 
listed, everybody looked sad. Grace aviis 
often in_ tears, and said, — 

"We can’t any of us live, if pa goes to 
the war.” 

But when Horace could not help crying, 
he always said it was because he " had tho 
earache ; ” and perhaps he thought it was. 

Mrs. Clifford tried to be cheerful, for 
she was a patriotic Avoman ; but she could 
not trust her voice to talk a gre.at deal, 
or sing much to the baby. 

As for Barbara Kincklc, she scrubbed the 
floors, and scoured the tins, h.arder than 
ever, looking all the Avhile ns if every one 
of her friends Avas dead and buried. The 


30 


CAPTAIN IIOUACE. 


family were to break up housekeeping, and 
Barbara was very sorry. Now she would 
have to go to her home, a little way back 
ill the country, and work in the fields, as 
many German girls do every summer. 

'■Q, my heart is sore,’' said she, "every 
time I thinks of it. They will in the cars 

i 

go olf, Jind whenever again I’ll see the 
kliny (little) childers I knows not.” 

It was a sad day when’ Mr. Clift’ord bade 
good by to his family. Ills last words to 
Horace were these: "Always obey your 
mother,, my boy, and remember that God 
secs all you do.” 

lie was now "Captain Clifford,” and went 
away at the head of his company, looking 
like, what he really Avas, a brave and noble 
gentleman. 

Grace Avondcred if he ever thought of 
the bright ncAV buttons on his coat; •oul 


CAMPING OUT. 


31 


Horace walked about among his scliool- 
follows with quite an air, very proud of 
})eing the son of a man Mdio either was 
now, or was going to ])e, the greatest 
odiccr in Indiana! 

If any l)ody else luid shoMui as much self- 
j esteem as Horace did, the boys would have 
said he had " the bin head.” When Yankee 
children think a playmate conceited, they 
call him "stuck up;” but Iloosier children 
say he has "the hirj head.” No one spoke 
ill this way of Horace, however, for there 
was something about him which made every 
body like him, in spite of his faults. 

He loved his play-fellows, and they loved 
him, and were sorry enough to have him 
go away ; though, perhaps, they did not 
shed so many tears as Grace’s little mates, 
who said, "they never’d have any more 
good times : they didn’t mean to try.” 

3 


Mrs. Clilibrd, too, left iii:iny warm frienclsj 
and it is safe to say, that on the morning 
the family started tor the cast, there were 
a great many people ” crying their hearts 
out of their eyes.” Still, I believe no one 
sorrowed more sincerely than faithful Bai’- 
bara Kinckle. 


TAKIxNG A JOUllNEY. 


3n 


CHAPTER III. 

^ TAKING A JOURNEY. 

It was a great effort for Mrs. Clifford to 
take a journey to Maine with three children ; 
but she needed the bracing air of New Eng- 
land, and so did Grace and the baby. 

To be sure they had the company of a 
gentleman who was going to Boston ; but 
ho was .*1 very young man indeed, who 
thought a great deal more of his new mus- 
tache than he did of trunks, and checks, 
and tickets. 

Twenty times a day Mrs. Clifford wished 
her husband could have gone with her be- 
Corc he enlisted, fjr she hardly knew what 


34 


CAI'TAIN HORACE. 


to *do with restless little Iloniee. As for 
fitting still, it was more than the boy could 
do. He would keep jerking his inquisitive 
little head out of the window, for he iiGvcr 
remembered a caution five minutes. He 
delighted to run iq) and down the narrow 
aisle, and, putting his hands on the arms 
of the seats, swing backward and forward 
with all his might. He became acquainted 
with every lozenge-boy and every newspaper- 
boy on the route, and seemed to be in a 
high state of merriment from morning till 
night. 

Grace, who was always proper Jiiid well- 
Ix'haved, Avas not a little mortitied by Hor- 
ace’s rough manners. 

'' He means no harm,” jMrs. Clifford would 
say, with a smile and a sigh; "but, ]\Ir. I^a- 
zellc, if you will be so kind as to t\’atch 
him a little, I will be greatly obliged.” 


TAKING A -lOUKNEY. 


Mr. Lazelle would reply, "O, certainl}^, 
madam ; be quite easy about the child ; he 
is not out of my sight for a moment ! ” 

So saying, perhaps he would go in search 
of him, and tiiid Iiim under a scat iilayiug 
with Pincher, his clothes covered with dust, 
and his cap lying between somebody’s feet. 

At such times IMr. Lazcllc always said, — 
"Upon my word, you’re a pretty little 
fellow ! ” and looked as if he would like to 
shake him, if it were not for soiling his 
gloves. 

Horace laughed when Mr. Lazelle called 
him "a pretty little fellow,” and thought it 
a fine iokc. . He laughed, too, when the 
young man told him to " come out,” for 
there was something in the pettish tone of 
luG voice which Plorace considered ver^’ 
amusing. 

" I’ll wait till he gets through scolding, 


36 


CAl’TAIN llOKACE. 


aiul goes to coaxing,” thought the Iwy : " he’s 
a smart man ! can’t make such a little fellow 
mind ! ” 

i\Ir. Lazellc was very much vexed with 
Horace, and firmly resolved that he would 
never again take charge of a lady travelling 
with ehildren. At one time he flew into 
a passion, and boxed the boy’s ears. Ilor- 
ace felt very mueh like a wounded Avasp. 
He kneAV Mr. Lazelle would not have dared 
strike him before his mother, and from that 
moment he despised him as a " sneak.” 

AVhenever IMr. Lazelle Avas looking for 
him in great haste, he Av^as very likely to 
be missing ; and Avhen that sorely tried 
young gentleman Avas almost in despair, a 
saucy little head Avould appear at the car- 
wlndoAV, and a small Amice Avould shout, — 

" IIo, Mr. Lazelle ! Avhy don’t you come 
ahead? I beat you 


TAKING A JOUKNEY. 


37 


” Horace,” said ]Mrs. CliUbrd, Avcarily, 
" you don’t know how you tire me ! Here 
is this dear baby that I have to hold in my 
arms ; isn’t it enough that I should have 
the care of him, without being all the while 
anxious about you? ” 

"Yes,” chimed in Grace, pushing baek 
her beautiful curls, " you don’t know how 
ma and I fret about 3^011. You’ll kill poor 
ma before ever we can get you cast ! ” 

Horace hung his head for shame, and de- 
cided that it didn’t " pay ” to punish jVIr. 
Lazelle, if his mother must suffer too. He 
meant, for her sake, to "turn over a new 
leaf,” though he did not say so. 

On the afternoon of their second da3'’s 
ride, the3" reached the beautiful city of 
Cleveland. Here the3" "were to rest for a 
fcAv hours. Their clothes were sadlv tum- 
bled, their collars dust-color, and their faces 


38 


CAinAlN HOUACE. 

and hair rouijh' 'with cinders. A thoronijh 

■washing and brushing, and some fresh ridhes 

and laces, gave a niiieh tidier appearance te 

1 

the whole party. 

After Grace and Horace 'were ready, ]\Irs. 
Clilford thought they might as well go down 
stairs while she tried to rock little Katie to 
sleep. 

"Be sure not to go aAvay from the house,” 
said she. "Grace, I depend upon 3'ou to 
take care of Horace, for lie ma^^ forget.” 

The children had been standini!; on the 
l)iazza for some time, watching the peo- 
ple passing, Avhilc iNIr. Lazellc lounged 
near b}', talking polities Avith some gentle- 
men. In a little Avhile iSIrs. Clifford sent 
for Grace to go up stairs and amuse the 
poor baby, Avho could not be rocked to 
sleep. 

For a fcAv moments after she had gone 


TAKING A JOUUNEY. 


.lloraco stood near the door, still gazing into 
the street, 'when, suddenly, he heard a faint 
sound of martial iiiusie : a brass band waa 
turning the eorncr. Soon they were in 
sight, men bi handsome uniform, drawing 
music from various instruments, picking, 
blowing, or beating it out, as the case 
might be. 

It was glorious, Horace thought. He 
could not keej) still. He ran out, and threw 
up his cap before he knew it almost, shout- 
ing with delight, — 

"IIo, Mr. Lazclle ! ain’t that jolly? IIo, 
]Mr. Lazelle ! Avherc are you, anyhow?” 

Prol)al)ly, if the boy had stopped to think, 
he might have remembered that iNIr. Lazelle 
was in the parlor; but no, Horace was sure 
he must have crossed the street to look at 
the band. 

" I 'll going. 


too,” said he to himself. 


40 


CAPTAIN IlOKACE. 


Of course, where Mr. Lazelle goes, I can 
go, for he has the care of me ! ” 

With that he claslied headlong into the 
irowd, looking here, there, and everywhere 
For Mr. Lazelle. 

But, O, that music ! Did a little boy’s 
boots ever stand still when a drum was 
playing, " March, march away’’? No doubt 
his father was keeping step to just such 
sounds, on his path to martial glory !- The 
fife and bugle whistled with magical voices, 
and seemed to say, — 

" Follow, follow, follow on ! ’' 

And Horace followed ; sometimes think- 
ing he was in search of iNIr. Lazelle, some- 
times forgetting it altogether. He knew 
he was doing very wrong, but it seemed as 
If the music almost drowned the voice of 
his conscience. 

In this way they turned street after street, 


TAKING A JOURNEY. * 4 \ 

till, suddenly, the band and the croAvd en- 
tered a large public building. Then the 
music died out, and with it the fii-e of 
eagerness in the little boy’s soul. 

Where was Mr. Lazelle ? If he could see 
him now, he would forgive the boxed ears 
How could he ever find his way back to the 
hotel? It had not as yet entered his head 
to ask any one. 

He darted off at great speed, but, as it 
happened, in precisely the wroi^g direction. 
The houses grew smaller and farther apart, 
and presently he came to a high, sandv 
cliff overlooking the lake. Now the shades 
of night began to fall, and his stout heart 
almost failed him. The longing grew so 
strong to see mother, and Grace, and baby, 
that the tears would start, in spite of 
himself. 

At last, just as he was wondering which 


42 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


U’ay to turn next, somebody touched his 
snoulder, and a rough voice said, — 

'' Hullo, my little man ! AMiat you doin' 
in this ward ? Come ; don’t you pull awa^- 
from me : I’m a city officer. Got lost, hey ? ’ 

Horace shook with fright. O dear, was 
it a crime, then, to get lost? He remem- 
bered all the stories he had ever heard of 
lock-ups, and state-prisons, and handculfs. 

"O, I didn’t mean any harm, sir,” cried 
he, trying to steady his voice : " I reckon 1 
ain’t lost, sir ; or, if I am, I ain’t lost 
much I ” 

” So, so,” laughed the policeman, good- 
naturedly ; "and what was }’our name, my 
little man, liefore you got lost, and didn’t 
get lost much ? ” 

"]\ry name is Horace Clifford, sir,” ronlicd 
the boy, wondering why a cruel })olicemaii 
should want to humh. 

O 


TAKING A JOURNEY. 


43 


Well, Aveil, ’ said the man, not unkindly, 
''I'm glad Ive come across ye, for your 
mother's in a terrible taking. What set ye 
>ut to run off? Come, now ; don’t he sulkv. 
Give ns your hand, and I guess, scein’ it’s 
you, we won't put you in the lock-up this 
time.” 

Horace was very grateful to the officer 
for not handcuffi’ng him on the spot; still 
he felt as if it was a great disgrace to ho 
marched through the city hy a policeman. 

jNIrs. Clifford, Grace, and Wr. Lazelle 
met them on the way. 

" O, my dear, dear son,” cried ]\Irs. Clif- 
ford, as soon as she could speak; "do you 
know how you’ve frightened us all?” 

"I followed the hand,” stammered Horace 
' I was looking for ]Mr. Lazelle.” 

"You’re a naughty, mean little hoy,” erica 
Grace, Avhen she had made sure he was lud 


44 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


iiurt anywhere. ” It would have been good 
enough for you if you’d drowned in the 
lake, and the bears had ate you up ! ” 

Still she kissed her naughty brother, and 
it was to be noticed that her eyelids were 
very red from crying. 

" I’ll never let go your hand again, Hor- 
ace,” said she, "till we get to grandma’s. 
You’re just as slippery 

Mr. Lazelle looked as if it would be an 
immense relief to him if Miss Grace would 
keep her word ; he thought ho was under- 
going a great trial with Horace. 

"It’s a shame,” said he to himself, "that a 
perfect lady, like Mrs. Clifford, should have 
such a son ! I’d enjoy whipping him — fol 
her sake ! Why in the world don’t she train 
him?” 

Mr. Lazelle did not know of the faithful 
talk Mrs Clillbid had with Horace that 



Captain Horace Lost. Page 42. 




TAKING A JOURNEY. 


45 


night, nor how the boy’s heart swelled wim 
grief, and love, and new resolutions. 

This adventure caused a day’s delay, rbr 
it made the party too late for the boat. 
Horace was so sorry for his foolish conduct, 
that he spent the next day in the most sul)- 
dued manner, and walked about the cham- 
ber on tiptoe, while Grace tried to soothe 
little Katie. 

J)ut, in crossing the lake, he " forgot ” 
again. His mother allowed him to go up 
on the hurricane deck with Mr. Lazellc, 
just for ten minutes ; and there he became 
acciuaintcd with the pilot, Avho was struck 
with his intelligence, and freely answered 
all the questions ho asked about the engine, 
"the whistle,” and the steering. 

"O, pshaw!” said Horace; "I’ll make a 
steamboat myself, and give it to Grace for 
u present ! ” 


46 


CAPTAIN HORACE . 


Full of this new plan, he left the pilot 
without so much as a "thank you,” running 
lown the steps, two at a time, unobserved 
by Mr. Lazelle, who was playing the flute, 
lie wanted to see ho^v the "rigging” was 
made, and stopped to ask leave of no- 
body. 

Down another flight of stairs, out across 
trunks, and bales, and ropes, he pushed his 
way to get a good sight of the deck. He 
paid no heed to people or things, and nearly 
ran over an Irish boy, who was drawing 
up water in buckets for washing. Some- 
body shouted, "lie’s trying to kill hisself, 
I do believe ! ” 

Somebody rushed forv'ard to seize the 
daring child by the collar of his jacket, but 
too late ; he had fallen headlong into the 
lake ! 

A scream went up from the deck tiiat 


TAKING A JOURNEY. 


47 


piorccd the air, — "Boy overboard! Help! 
help 1 help 1 ” 

Mrs. Cliftbrd heard, and knew,, by in- 
stinct, that it was Horace. She had just 
sent Grace to call him, not feeling safe to 
trust him longer with Mr. Lazelle. She 
rushed through the door of the state-room, 
and followed the crowd to the other side 
of the boat, crying, — 

" O, can’t somebody save him ! ” 

There was no mistaking the mother’s 
voice ; the crowd made way for her. 

" Safe ! safe and sound ! ” was the shout 
now. "All right ! ” 

The Irish lad, at Horace’s first plunge, 
had thrown him his bucket — it was a life- 
preserver; that is, it would not sink — and 
the drowning boy had been drawn up by 
means of a rope attached to the liail. 

"Ma,” said Grace, when they Avere all 


48 


CAPTAIN HOKACE. 


safely in the cars at Bufliilo, and Horace as 
well as ever, though a little pale, "I do 
belicvo- there never was anybody had such 
an awful journey ! Do you suppose we'll 
ever get Horace home to grandma’s?” 


AT GKANDPA TAHLIN’S. 


49 


CHAPTER IV. 

AT GK^IiNDrA TAKLIN’S. 

It was over at last — the long, tedious 
journey, which Horace spoiled for everybody, 
and which nobody but Horace enjoyed. 

When they drove up to the (piiet old 
homestead at Willowbrook, and somebody 
had taken the little baby, poor Mrs. Clif- 
ford threw herself into her mother’s arms, 
and sobbed like a child. Everybody else 
cried, too ; and good, deaf grandpa Parlin, 
with smiles and tears at the same time, 
Jeclared , — 

" I don’t know what the matter is j so 
I can’t tell whether to laugh or cry. ’ 


50 


CAn'AIX IIOUACK. 


Tlien his daughter iNIargarct went up and 
said ill his best car that they were just 
crying for joy, and asked him if that wasn’t 
a silly thing to do. 

Grace cniliraeed everybody twice over ; 
but Horace was a little shy, and would only 
give what his aunties called "canary kisses.” 

"JMargarct, I want you to give me that 
darling baby this minute,” said Mrs. Parlin, 
wiping her eyes. " Now you can bring the 
butter out of the cellar : it’s all there is to be 
done, except to set the tea on the table.” 

Then grandma Parlin had another cry 
over little Katie : not such a stranoe thinsr. 
for she could not help thinking of Harry, 
the baby with sad eyes and pale face, Avho 
had been sick there all the summer before, 
and was now an angel. As little Prudy had 
said, " God took him up to heaven, but the 
tired part of him is in the garden.” 


AT GUANDPA PAPLlx’s. 


51 


Tes, under a weeping-willow. Every- 
body was thinking just now of tired little 
Harry, "the sweetest flower that ever was 
[)lanted in that garden.” 

"Why, Maria,” said Mrs. Cliflbrd, as soon 
as she eould speak., "how did you ever tnivel 
so far with this little, little baby?” 

"I don’t knoAv, mother,” replied Mrs. 
Clilford ; " I think I eould never have get 
here Avithout Grace : siie has been my little 
Avaiter, and Katie’s little nurse.” 

Grace blushed Avith delight at this Avelh 
deserved praise. 

"And Horace is so large noAV, that ho 
was some help, too. I’ve no doubt,” said 
nis granamother. 

"I Avould have took the baby,” cried 
Horace, speaking up very quickly, before 
any one else had time to aiiSAvcr, — "I Avould 
have took the baby, l)ut she Avouldn't let me.’' 


52 


CAPTAIN IIOIIACE. 


]Mrs. ClilFord might have said that Horace 
liimsclf had been as much trouble as the 
liahy ; but she was too kind to wound her 
little boy’s feelings. 

It Avas certainly a very happy party who 
met around the tea-table at INIr. Pari in’s that 
evening. It was already dusk, and the large 
globe lain}), with its Avhite })orcclain shade, 
gave a cheery gloAv to the pleasant dining- 
room. 

First, there was cream-toast, made of the 
whitest bread, and the sweetest cream. 

" This makes me think of Mrs. Gray,” 
said Mrs. Cliflbrd, smiling; "I hope she is 
living yet.” 

" She is,” said Margaret, " but twelve 
years old.” 

Grace looked up in surprise. 

'' Why, that’s only a little girl, aunt 
Madge 1 ” 


AT GRANDPA PARLIN’S. 


53 


dear, it’s only a cow!” 

" O, iiow I rciiieinber ; the little blue one, 
with brass knobs on her horns!” 

"'Let’s see; do you reineinbcr Dr. Quack 
and his Avife ? ” \ 

" O, ycs’m ! they were white ducks; and 
how they did swim ! It Avas a year ag(,. 
I suppose Horace doesn’t remember.” 

" Ikdi ! yes, I do ; they Avcrc n^nn-footed ! ” 
AVhy, Horace,” said Grace, laughing; 
"you mean weh-footed ! 

Horace bent his eyes on his plate, and 
did not look up again for some time. 

There Avas chicken-salad on the table. 
iMargaret made that — putting in neAV butter, 
because she kneAV Mrs. Clitibrd did not 
like oil. 

There Avas delicious looking cake, "some 
that had been touched with frost, and some 
that hadn’t,” as grandpa said, Avhen he 
passed the basket. 


54 


CAITAIN HORACE. 


15ut the crowning glory of the siippci 
was a dish of scarlet strawberries, which 
looked as if they had been drinking dew- 
drops and sunshine till they had caught 
all the richness and sweetness of suininer. 

''O, ma ! ” Avhispered Grace, "I’m begin- 
ning to feel so happy ! I only wish iny 
father was here.” 

After tea, gi-andpa took Horace and Grace 
on each knee, large as they were, and sang 
some delightful evening hymns with what 
was left of his once fine voice. He looked 
so peaceful and happy, that his daughters 
were reminded of the Bible verse, " Chil- 
di’en’s children are the crown of old men.” 

" I think now,” said Mrs. Cliftbrd, coming 
back from putting the baby to sleep, " it’s 
high time my boy and girl were sa} ing, 
’Good-night, and pleasant dreams.’” 

" Aunt Madge is going up stairs Avith us ; 
aren’t you, auntie ? ” 


AT Gli.VA'DPA TAKLIA’S. 


55 


"Yes, Horace ; your other auntie wouldn’t 
do, I suppose,” said Louise. " That makes 
me think of the way this same Horace used 
to treat me when he was two years old. 

7/er can’t put me to bed,’ he would say; 
'her’s too little.’” 

"I remember,” said jMargaret, "how he 
dreaded cold Avater. AMicn his mother 
called him to be Avashed, and said, ' Ma 
doesn’t Avant a little dirty boy,’ he Avould 
look up in her face, and say, 'Does mamma 
Avant ’ittle cold boy ? ’ ” 

The hajApy children kissed everybody 
good-night, and folloAved their aunt Madge 
up stairs. Xoav, there Avas a certain small 
room, Avhose one AvindoAv opened upon the 
piazza, and it Avas called "the green cham- 
ber.” Tt contained a cunning little bed- 
stead, a Avee bureau, a dressing-table, and 
washing-stand, all pea-green. It Avas a 


CAFIAIN llOltACE. 


5(i 

room which seemed to have been made and 
furnished on purpose for a child, and it had 
'ocen promised to Grace in every letter 
iiiiit Madge had written to her for a ycai, 

Horace had thought but little about the 
room till to-night, when his aunt led Grace 
into it, and ho followed. It seemed so fresh 
and sweet in "the green chamber,” and on 
the dressing-table there was a vase of llow- 
crs. 

Aunt IMadge bade the children look out 
of the windoAv at a bird’s nest, which was 
snuggled into one corner of the piazza- 
roof, so high up that nobody could reach 
it without a very tall ladder. 

"Now,” said aunt .Mmlge, " the very first 
thing Grace hears in the morning will prol> 
ably bo bird-music.” 

Grace clapped her hands. 

" And where am I going to sleep ? ” said 


AT GRANDPA PARUN’S. 


5 ? 


H(;racc, who had been listening, and looking 
on in silence. Ilis aunt had forgotten that 
he was sometimes jealous ; but she could not 
help knowing it now, for a very disagreeable 
expression looked out at his eyes, and drew 
down the corners of his mouth. 

" AYhy, Horace dear, we have to put you 
in one of the back chambers, just as we did 
when 3'ou were here before ; but 3^011 know 
it’s a nice clean room, Avith Avhite cuitains, 
and you can look out of the window at the 
garden.” 

" r>ut it’s over the kitchen ! ” 

"There, Horace,” said Grace, "I’d be 
ashamed! You don’t act like a little gen. 
tl email ! AVhat wmuld pa say ? ” 

" AYhy couldn’t I have the big front chain-. 
()cr?” said the little bey, shuffling his. feet, 
and looking doAvn at his shoes. 

"Tccausc,” said aunt Madge, smiling, 
"that is for your mother and the baby.” 


58 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


"But if I could have this little cunning 
room, I’d go a flyin’. Grace ain’t company 
any more than me.” 

Aunt Madge remembered Horace’s hit-or 
miss ■\vay of using things, and thought of 
the elephant that once walked into a china 
shop. 

Grace laughed aloud. 

"AVhy, Horace Cliflbrd, you’d make the 
room look like everything ; you know you 
would ! O, auntie, you ought to see how 
he musses up my cabinet ! I have to hide 
the key; I do sol’’ 

Horace took the room which was given 
him, but he left his sister without his usual 
good-night kiss, and when he repeated his 
prayer, I am afraid he was thinking all the 
while about the green chamber. 

The next mornino; the children had in- 
tended to go into the garden bright and 


AT GllANDPA PAKLIN’S. 


early. Grace loved flowers, and when she 
was a mere bahy, just able to toddle into 
the meadow, she woiild clip oft* the heads 
of buttercups and primroses, hugging and 
kissing them like friends. 

Horace, too, had some fancy for flowers, 
especially flaring ones, like sunflowers and 
hollyhocks. Dandelions were nice when the 
stems would curl Avithout l)othering, and 
poppies Avere Avorth Avhile for little girls, 
he thought, because, after they are gone 
to seed, you can make them into pretty 
good teapots. 

lie AA'anted fo go out in the garden now 
for humming-l)irds, and to see if the dirt- 
colored toad AA'as still living in his " nest,” 
in one of the floAver-beds. 

But the first thing the children heard in 
the morning AA\as the pattering of rain or 
the roof. No going out to-day. Grace Avaa 


60 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


too tired to care much. Horace felt cross ; 
hut remembering how many messages his 
grandmother had sent to her "good little 
grandson,'” and how often aunt IMadge had 
written about "dear little Horace, the nephew 
she was so proud of,” he felt ashamed to go 
down stairs scowling. If his good-morning 
smile was so thin that you could sec a frown 
through it, still it was better than no smile 
at all. 

The breakfast was very nice, and Horace 
would have cnjo3^ed the hot griddle-cakes 
and maple sirup, only his aunt Louise, a 
handsome young lady of sixteen, watched 
him more than he thought was quite polite, 
saying every now and then, — 

"Isn’t he the image of his father? Just 
such a nose, just such a mouth ! He eats 
fast, too ; that is characteristic ! ” 

Horace did not know what " character- 


AT GRANDPA PARLIN’S. 


6 \ 


istic ” meant, but thought it must be some- 
thing bad, for 'with a child’s quick eve he 
could see that his pretty aunt was biclined 
to laugh at him. In fact, he had quite an 
odd way of talking, and his wnole appear- 
ance was amusing to Miss Louise, who was 
a very lively young lady. 

''’Horace, you were telling me last night 
about Mr. Lazelle : what did you say was 
the color of his coat ? ” 

"I said it was blueberry color,” replied 
Horace, who could see, almost without look- 
ing up, that aunt Louise was smiling at aunt 
Madge. 

"He is a musicianer too, I think you 
said, and his hair crimpfi. Dear me, what 
a funny man ! ” 

Horace was silent, and made up his mind 
that he should be careful another time what 
he said before aunt Louise. 


0A1*TAIX IIOUACE. 


(52 

Soon after breakfiist he and Pinchcr Avent 
up- attic” to see v»hat they could find, while 
Grace followed her [vr.uulmother and aunties 
from parlor to kitchen, and from kitchen to 
pantiy. She looked pale and tired, but was 
so happy that she sang every now and then 
at the to}) of her voice, hu’getting that little 
Katie was having a nap. 

Pretty soon Horace came down stairs with 
an old, rust}^ gun much taller than himself. 
Mrs. C'lillbrd Avas shocked at first, but smiled 
the next moment, as she remembered Avhat 
an innocent thing it Avas, past its "prime” 
before she Avas of Horace’s age. 

The little boy playfully pointed the gun 
toAvards Grace, Aviio screamed Avith fright, 
and ran aAvay as fast as she could. 

"I don’t care,” cried she, coming liack, a 
little ashamed at being laughed at • " how did 
I knoAv it Avasn’t loaded? Do you think 


AT GRAXUPA PARLIX’S. 


03 


'two u Id look well for a little girl not to be 
afraid of a gun ? ” 

This speech amused everybody, particu- 
’ irly Horace, who was glad to have Grace 
jny a foolish thing once in a while. It 
raised his self-esteem somehow ; and, more 
than that, he liked to remember her little 
slips of the tongue, and tease her about 
them. 

It was not long before he had seen all 
there was to be seen in the house, and 
wanted to "do something.” As for reading, 
that was usually too stupid for Horace. 
Grace kindly offered to play checkers with 
him ; but she understood the game so much 
better than he did, that she won at every 
trial. 

This was more than he could bear with 
patience ; and, whenever he saw that she Avas 
gaining upon him, he wanted to "turn it 
into a give-qame.^' 

5 


G4 


CAPTATX HORACE. 


^But that isn’t fair, Horace.” 

" Well, ma, just you see how mean Giace 
is ! There, she wants iiic to jumj) that man 
yonder, so she’ll take two of mine, and go 
ri«:ht in the kinff-row ! ” 

"But, Horace,” said Grace, gently, "Avhat 
do I play for if I don’t try to beat ? ” 
"There now,” cried he, "chase my men up 
to the king-ro\v, so I can’t crown ’em, do ! ” 
"Just what I’m doing,” replied Grace, 
coolly. 

" Well, I should think you’d better tsdvc 
’em all, and be done Avith it ! Before I’d be 
so mean as to set trcqjs ! ” 

" Look. Horace,” said Grace ; "yon didn’t 
jump when you onglit to, and I’m going to 
huff your man. See, I bloAV it, just this 
way ; old ]\Ir. Knight calls it liuffinq." 

" Huff away then I but yon stole one of 
those kinsfs. I’ll bet you stole it off the 
board after I jumped it,” 


AT GUAxN'DrA PAULIN’s. 


05 


'^Now, Horace Clittbrd,” cried Grace, with 
tears in her eyes, "I never did such a thing 
as to steal a king ; and if you say so I won’t 
iday ! ” ■ 

"Horace,” said Mrs. Clifford, who had 
been trying for some time to speak, " what 
do you play checkers for?” 

"Ma’am? Why, to beat, of course.” 

" Well, do you consider it work, or play?” 

"Work, or play? Why, it’s a game, ma ; 
so it’s play.” . 

" But Grace was so obliging that she 
wished to amuse you, my son. Does it 
amuse you? Doesn't it make you cross? 
Do yon know that you have spoken a 
great many sharp words to your kind 
sister ? 

"Shut the board right up, my child; and 
remember from thi.5 time never to play 
checkers, or any other game, when you feel 


CAia-AIN HORACE. 


f)(3 

^^oiirself growing fretful ! As you sonic, 
diiios siiy, ' It doesn’t pay.’ ” 

Horace closed the lioard, looking ashamed. 
"That’s sound advice for everybody,” said 
unit Madge, stroking her little nephew’s 
nair. " If children always remembered it, 
they wonld get along more pleasantly to- 
gether — I know they would.” 

Grace had been looking ill all the morn- 
ng, and her mother now saw symptoms of 
.1 chill. AVith all her tender anxiety she 
had not known hoiv tired her little daughter 
was. It was two or three weeks before the 
child was rested ; and whenever she had a 
chill, which was every third day for a while, 
she was delirious, and kept crying out, — 
"O, do see to Horace, mamma! Air. La- 
zelle will forget ! O, Horace, now don't let 
go my hand ! I’ve got the bundles, mamma, 
and the milk for the baby.” 


AT GKANDPA '’AKLIA’S. 


1*7 


And soinetiincs Mrs. Clilibrd -would call 
Horace to come and take his sister’s hand, 
just to assure her that he was not lying cold 
and dead in the Avaters of Lake Erie. It 
Avas really touching to see hoAV heavily the 
cares of the journey had Avcighed on the 
dear girl s youthful spirits. 


CAPTAIN IlOKACE. 


»)8 


CHAPTER V. 

CAPTAIN OF A COMPANY. 

At first Mrs. Clifibrd thought she did iioi 
care about having the children go to school, 
as they had been kept at their studies for 
nearly nine months without a vacation, ex- 
cept Christmas holidays. 

But what was to be done with Horace? 
Aunt Louise, who was not passionately fo/id 
of children, declared her trials were greater 
than she could bear. Grace Avas a little 
lidy, she thought; but as for Horace, and 
his dog Pincher, and the ” calico kitty,” 
which he had picked up for a pet! — Louise 
disliked dogs and despised kittens. Some- 


CAPTAIN OF A COMPANY. 


G9 

times, as she told ISIargarct, she felt as if 
she should certainly lly ; sometimes she was 
sure she -was going crazy ; and then again it 
seemed as if her head would burst into a 
thousand pieces. 

None of these dreadful accidents hap- 
pened, it is true ; but a great many other 
things did. Hammers, nails, and augers 
were carried oft’, and left to rust in the dew. 
A cup of green paint, which for months had 
stood quietly on an old shelf in the store- 
room, was now taken down and stirred with 
a stick, and all the toys which Horace whit- 
tled out were stained green, and set in the 
sun to dry. A pair of cheese-tongs, which 
hung in the back room, a boot-jack, the 
washing-bench, which Avas once red, — all 
became green in a very short time : only the 
red of the bench hud a curious elfcct, peep- 
ing out from its light and ragged coat of 


oTcen. 




70 


CAITAIN II01:ACE. 


The blue sled 'which belonged to Susy and 
Prudy 'was brought down from the shc(b 
chamber, and looked at for some time. It 
would jiresent a lovely appearance, Horace 
thought, if he only dared cross it off with 
green. But as the sled belonged to his 
little cousins, and they 'were not there to see 
for themselves how beautiful he coidd make 
it look, why, he must wait till they came ; 
and then, very likely, the paint would be 
gone. 

Of course, Horace soiled his clothes sadly : 
"that was always just like him,” his aunt 
Louise said. 

This was not all. A little neiHibor, 
Gilbert Brown, came to the house at all 
hours, and between the twc‘ boys there was 
a noise of driving nails, firing pop-guns, 
shoutim? and running from mewning til) 
night. 


CAITAIX OF A COMPANYo 


71 


They built a " shanty ” of the boards 
which grandpa -was saving to mend the 
fence, and in this shanty they " kept store,” 
trading in crooked i)ins, home-made toys, 
twine, and jack-knives. 

"jMastcr chaps, them children are,” said 
Abner, the good-natured hired man. 

"Hard-working boys! They are as de- 
structive as arm}'-worms,” declared grandpa, 
frowning, Avith a tAvinkle in his eye. 

Horace had a cannon about a foot long, 
which Avent on Avheels, Avith a box behind it, 
and a rammer lashed on at the side — not to 
mention an American Hag Avhich floated over 
the Avhole. AVith a stout string ho drew his 
cannon np to the large oilnut tree, and then 
with a real bayonet fixed to a Avoodeii gun, 
he AA'oidd lie at full length under the shade, 
calling himself a sharpshooter guarding the 

cannon. At these times Avoe to the " calico 

V 


72 


CAPTAIN liOKACE. 


kitty,” or Grace, or an^^botly else who hai> 
pened to go near him ! for ho gave the order 
to "charge,” and the charge was made most 
vigorously. 

Upon the whole, it was decided that 
evcryljody Avould feel easier and happier if 
Horace should go to school. This plan did 
not please him at all, and he went with 
sulky looks and a very had grace. 

Ilis mother smhed ; for thoimh her little 

O ^ 

boy kept the letter of the law, which says, 
" Children, obey your parents,” he did not 
do it in the spirit of the commandment. 
Honor thy father and thy mother.” 

In a thousand Avays ]\Irs. Clifford was 
made unhappy by Horace, Avho shoidd have 
been a comfort to her. It was sad, indeed ; 
for never did a kind mother try harder to 
'' train up a child ” in tho right Avay. 

It did not take Horace a great while to 


CAPTAIN OF A COMl’ANY 


7a 


renew his acquaintance with the schoolboys, 
who all seemed to look upon him as a sort 
of curiosity. 

" I never knew before,” laughed little Dan 
Rideout, " that my name was Dan-yell ! ” 

" He calls a pail a bucket, and a dipper a 
fhi-Jaq),” said Gilbert Brown. 

"Yes,” chimed in Willy Snow, "and he 
asks, 'Is school took uj)?' just as if it was 
knitting-work that was on needles.” 

" How he rolls his r’s ! ” said Peter Grant. 
"You can’t say hor-r-se the way he does! 
I’ll l)et the ain't a boy can do it, unless it’s a 
Cahoojack.” Peter meant Iloosier. 

"Well, I wouldn’t be seen saying hoss," 
returned Horace, with some spirit; "that’s 
Yankee." 

"I iruess the Yankees arc as cfood as the 
Cahoojacks : wasn’t your mother a Yankee ?” 

"Yes,” faltered Horace; "she was born up 


74 


CAPTAIN IIOUACP:. 


north here, in the Frigid Zone ; but she isn’t 
so much rehiti(ui to me as my father is, lor 
her name wasn’t Clifford. She wouldn’t 
have been cniy relation to me if she hadn’l 
married my father ! ” 

One or two of the larger bo^'s laughed at 
this speech, and Horace, who could never 
endure ridicule, stole quietly away. 

"Now, boys, 3'oii behave,” said Edward 
Snow, Willy’s older brother ; " he’s a smart 
little fellow, and it’s mean to go to hurting 
his feelings. Come liack here. Spunky 
Clifford; let’s have a game of /li sjiij ! 

Horace was "as silent as a stone.” 

" He don’t like to be called Spunky 
Clifford,” said Johnny Bell ; " do you, 

Horace? ” 

"The reason I don’t like it,” replied the 
hoy, " is ])ecause it’s not my name.” 

"Well, then,” said Edward Snow, winking 


CAPTAIN OF A COMPANY. 


75 


to the other boys, ''won’t you play with us, 
^^aster Horace?'''’ 

"I’ll not go back to be laughed at,’’ 
replied he, stoutly : " when I’m home 1 play 
with Iloosier boys, and they’re politer than 
Yankees.” 

"’Twas only those big boys,” said Johnn}i 
Bell ; " now they’ve gone oft’. Come, let’s 
play something.” 

"I should think j^ou’d be willing for us to 
laugh,” added honest little Willy Snow; "we 
can’t help it, you talk so funny. We don’t 
mean anything.” 

"Well,” said Horace, quite restored to 
j^ood humor, ap.d speaking Avith some dig- 
-iity, "you may laugh at me one kind of a 
?vay, but if you mean humph Avhen you 
laugh, I won’t stand it.” 

^WoonH stand it!” echoed Peter Grant; 


ain’t that Dutch? 


76 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


” Dutch ? ” replied Horace ; ” I’ll show you 
what Dyche is ! We have a Dyclie- teacher 
come in our school every day, and he stamps 
his foot and tears round ! ' Sei ruhig,’ he 

says : that means, ' hush your mouth and 
keep still.’ ” 

"Is he a Jew, and does he stay in a syna- 
"omie? ” 

"No, he is a German Luteran^ or a Dutch 
Deformed, or something that way.” 

"What do you learn in?” said Johnny 
Bell. 

"Why, in little German Eeaders : what 
else would they be ? ” 

"Docs it read like stories and verses? ” 

" I don’t know. He keeps hitting tin 
books with a little sw'tch, and screamin’ out 
as if the house was ahre.” 

" Come, say over some Dutch ; woon’t you, 
Horace ? ” 


CAPTAIN OF A COMPANY. 


77 


So the little boy repeated some German 
poetry, while his schoolmates looked up at 
him ill wonder and admiration. This was 
just what Horace enjoyed ; and he contimied, 
with sparkling eyes, — 

" 1 s’pose you can’t aii}' of you corml 
Dutch?-’ 

The ho3's confessed that they could not, 

"It’s just as eas^y” said Horace, telling 
over the numbers up to twenty, as fast as he 
could speak. 

"You can’t any of }'ou write Dutch; can 
you? You give me a slate now, and I’ll 
write it all over so ^mu couldn’t read a word 
)f it.” 

"Ain’t it veiy hard to make?” asked the 
hoys in tones of respectful astonishment. 

"I reckon ^mii’d think ’twas hard, it’s so 
full of little quirls , hut I can write it as 
eas3' as English.” 


78 


CAPTAIN IIOUACE. 


Tills was quite true, for Horace made very 
hard work of any kind of writing. 

It was not two days before he was at the 
head of that part of the school known as 
" the small boys,” both in study and play ; 
yet everybod}" liked him, for, as I have said 
before, the little fellow had such a strong 
sense of justice, and such kindness of heart, 
tliat he was always a favorite, in spite of his 
faults. 

The l)oys all said there was nothing 
"mean” about Horace. He would neither 
abuse a smaller child, nor see one abused. 
If he thought a boy was doing wrong, he 
was not afraid to tell him so, and you may 
be sure he was all the more respected for his 
moral courage. 

Horace talked to his schoolmates a great 
deal about his father. Captain Clifford, who 
was going to bo a general some day. 


CAPTAIN OF A CO.AIPANY. 


79 


" When I Avas homo,” said he, "I studied 
pa’s book of tictacs, and I used to drill the 
boys.” 

There Avas a loud cry of " AAdiy can’t you 
drill us? Come, let’s us have a company, 
and you be cap’n ! ” 

Horace gladly consented, and the next 
Saturdaj' afternoon a meeting A\ais appointed 
at the " Glen.” AVhen the time came, the 
boys Avere all as joyful as so many s(piirrels 
suddenly let out of a cage. 

"Noav look here, boys,” said Horace, 
l)rushing back his "shingled hair,” and Avalk- 
ing about the grove Avith the air of a lord. 
"First place, if I’m going to be captain, 
you must mind; Avill you? .say.” 

Horace Avas not much of a public speaker; 
he threAV Avords together just as it happened ; 
l)ut there Avas so much meaning in the tAvist- 
ings of his face, the jerkings of his head, 


80 


CAITAIN HOUACE. 


and the twinings of his thumbs, that if 3^)11 
were looking at him you must know what ho 
meant. 

Ay, a}^ ! ” piped the little boys in 
chorus. 

"Then I’lV muster 3^011 in,” said Horace, 
grandl3'. " Has eveiybod3' brought their 
guns? — I mean sticJcs, 3'ou know!” 

"Ay, ay!” 

"I want to be corporal,” said Peter Grant. 

"I’ll bo major,” cried AVilly Snow. 

"There, 3U)u’ve spoke,” shouted the cap- 
tain. "I wish there was a tub or bar’l to 
stand 3'ou on when 3’ou talk.” 

After some time an empt3" Hour barrel was 
brought, and placed upright under a tree, to 
serve as a dunce-block. 

" Now we’ll begin ’new,” said the captain, 
''Those that Avant to be mustered, rise iqj 
their hands ; but don’t you snap 3'onr fingers.’* 


CAPTAIN OF A COMP.VNY. 


81 


The caution came too late for some of th« 
f)oys ; but Horace forgave the seeming di? 
respect, knowing that no harm was intended 
"Now, boys, what are }ou fighting about? 
— Say, For our country ! ” 

"For our country,” shouted the soldiers, 
some in chorus, and some in solo. 

"And our fiag,” added Horace, as aii 
after-thought. 

"And our Hag,” repeated the boys, look- 
ing at the little banner of stars and stripes, 
which was fastened to the stump of a tree, 
and faintly fluttered in the breeze. 

" Long may it wave ! ” cried Horace, 
growing enthusiastic, and iioiuting back- 
ward to the fiag with a sweep of his thumlj. 

" There ain’t a ' Secesh ’ in this company ; 
there ain’t a man but wants our battle to 
beat ! If there is, we’ll muster him out 
doublc-(|uick.” 


82 


CArTAIX HORACE. 


A few caps were lloiirislied in the air, and 
every mouth .was set firmly together, as if it 
would shout scorn of secession if it dared 
speak. It was a loyal company ; there was 
no doubt of that. Indeed, the captain was 
so bitter against the South, that he had asked 
his aunt Madge if it was right to let south- 
eriiwood grow in the garden. 

"Now,” said Horace, "Forward! IMarcli ! 
’Ploy column ! — No, form a line first. Ten- 
tion! ” 

A curved, uncertain line, not unlike the 
letter S, gradually straightened itself, and 
the boys looked down to their feet as if 
they expected to sec a chalk-mark on the 
grass. 

"Now, when I say, 'flight !’ y<Hi must look 
at the buttons on my jacket — or on yours. 
I’ve forgot which ; on yours, I reckon. 
Right I Right at ’em ! flight at tho buttons !” 


CAPTAIN OF A COMPANY. 


83 


Ohctlient to orders, every lioy’s head 
drooped in a moment. 

" Stop ! ” said Horace, knitting his broivs ; 

” that’s enoimh ! ” For there seemed to ho 

^ • 

something wrong, he eonld not tell what. 

" Now you may ' ’hont face ; ’ that means 
wdiirl round. Now march ! one, two, quick 
time, douhlc-quick ! ” 

"They’re stepping on my toes,” cried 
barefooted Peter Gnliit. 

"Hush right np, private, or I’ll stand you 
on the bar’l.” 

"I wish’t you would,” groaned little Peter ; 
"it hurts.” 

"Well, then, I shan’t,” said the captain, 
decidedly, " for ’twouldn’t bo any punishin’. 

. — Can’t some of you whistle ? ” ' 

'Vnily Snow struck up Yankee Doodle, 
which soon charmed the wayward feet ot 
the little volunteers, and set them to march' 


84 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


Afterward their ciiptaiii gave instructions 
in ''groundin’ arms,” 'stackin’ arms,” "tirin’,’’ 
and " countin’ a march,'’ by which he meant 
■'countennarching.” He had really read a 
good many pages in Infantry Tactics, and 
had treasured up the military phrases with 
some care, though he had but a confused 
idea of their meaning. 

" Holler-square ! ” said he, when he could 
think of nothing else to say. Of course he 
meant a "hollow square.” 

"Shall we holler all together?” cried a 
voice from the midst of the ranks. 

The owner of the voice would have been 
"stood on the barrel,” if Horace had been 
less busy thinking. 

"I’ve forgot how they holler, as true as 
you live ; but I reckon it’s all together, 
and open your mouths wide.” 

At this the young volunteers, nothing 


CAPTAIN OF A CO:MrANY. 


85 


loath, gave a long, deafening shout, -which 
(lie woods caught up and echoed 

Horace scratched his head. He had seen 
his father drill hisMneii, but he could not 
rciueniber that he had ever heard them 
scream. 

A pitched battle came olf next, which 
would have been a very peaceful one if al! 
the boys had not wanted to be Northerners. 
But the feeling Avas greatly changed Avhen 
Horace joined the Southern ranks, sa^dng 
"he didn’t care how much he played Secesh 
when everybody knew he was a good Union 
man, and his father Avas going to be a 
general.” After this there Avas no trouble 
about raising volunteers on the rebel side. 

The AA’holc affair ended very pleasantly, 
only there Avas some slashing right and left 
Avith a few liits of broken glass, Avhich AV'ero 
used as sAvords ; and several mothers had 
Avounds to dress that night. 


86 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


Mrs. ClilFord heard no complaint from her 
little son, although his fingers were quite 
I'aggcd, and must have been painful. Hor- 
ace was really a brave boy, and always bore 
sullering like a hero. More than that, he 
had the satisfaction of using the drops of 
blood for red paint ; and the first tiling after 
siqipcr he made a wooden sword and gun, 
and dashed them with red streaks. 


SUSY AND DKUDY. 


HI 


CHAPTER VI. 

SUSY AND TRUDY. 

The- Clifford children were very anxious 
to see Susy and Prudy, and it seemed a 
long while to wait ; but the Portland schools 
had a vacation at last, and then it was time 
to expect the little cousins. 

The whole family were impatient to see 
them and their excellent mother. Grandma 
lost her spectacles very often that afternoon, 
and every time she went to the window to 
look out, the ball of her knitting-work fol- 
/owed her, as Grace said, " like a little 
kitten.” 

There was great joy when the stage reii!!)’ 


drove up to the door. Tlie cousins were 
rutlier shy of eaeh other at first, and Priidy 
hid her face, all glowing Avith smiles and 
blushes, in her plump little hands. But the 
stillness wore aAvay, and they Avere all as 
Mcll aecpiainted as ever they had been, in 
ibout ten minutes. 

"Ain’t that a bumpin’ stage, though?” 
fried Horace; "just like a baby-jumiier.” 

"’\\"e came in it, you knoAv, Susy,” said 
Grace ; "didn’t it shake like a corn-pojiper ? ” 

" 1 Avant to go and sec the piggy and 
ducks,” said Prudy. 

"Well,” Avdiispercd Susy, "Avait till after 
supper.” 

The Cliffords A\^erc delighted Avith their 
little cousins. When they had last seen 
Prudy, Avhich Avas the summer before, they 
had loved her dearly. Xoav she Avas jiast 
five, and "a good deal emminger than ever;” 


SUSY AND TRUDY. 


89 


jr so Horace thought. He liked her pretty 
face, her gentle ways, aud said very often, 
f he had such a little sister he’d "go a 
lyin’.” 

To be sure Susy was just his age, and 
could run almost as fast as he could ; still 
Horace did not fancy her half as much as 
Priidy, who could not run much without 
falling down, and who Avas always sure to 
cry if she got hurt. 

Grace and Susy were glad that Horace 
liked Prudy so Avell, for when they Avere 
cutting out dolls’ dresses, or playing Avith 
company, it Avas pleasant to have him take 
her out of the Avay. 

Prudy’s mouth AA^as not much larger than 
a button-hole, hut she opened it as Avide as 
she could Avhen she saAV’^ Horace Avhittle out 
such wonderful toys. 

He tried to he as much as possible like a 


90 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


man ; so he worked with his jacket off, 
whistling all the while ; and when he 
[lounded, he drew in his breath with a 
whizzing noise, such as he had heard car- 
penters make. 

All this was very droll to little Priidy, 
who had no brothers, and supposed her 
" captain cousin ” must be a very remarkable 
boy, especially as he told her that, if he 
hadn’t left his tool-box* out west, he could 
have done a heap better.” It was quite 
funny to see her standing over him with 
such a happ3^ wondering little face, some- 
times singing snatches of little songs, which 
were sure to be wrong somewhere, such as, — 

Little kinds of deedness, 

Little words of love, 

Make this earthen neednH, 

Like the heaven above.” 

She thought, as Horace did, that her sled 


SUSY AND PRUDY. 


91 


would look very well "crossed off with 
green ; ” but Susy would not consent. So 
Horace made a doll’s sled out of shingles, 
with turned-up runners, and a tongue of 
string. This toy pleased Prudy, and no 
one had a right to say it should not be 
painted green. 

But as Captain Horace was just preparing 
to add this tinishing touch, a lady arrived 
with little twin-boys, four years old. Aunt 
Madge came into the shed to call Horace 
and Prudy. "O, auntie,” said Horace, "I 
don’t believe I care to play with those 
little persons ! ” 

His aunt smiled at hearing children called 
''little persons,” but told Horace it would 
not be polite to neglect his young visitors : 
it would be positively rude. Horace did 
not wish to be considered an ill-mannered 
boy, and at last consented to have his hands 


92 


CA1*TAIN HORACE. 


and garments cleansed with turpentine to 
erase the paint, and to go into the nursery 
to see the " little persons.” 

It seemed to him and Prudy that the visit 
lasted a great while, and that it was exceed 
ingly hard work to be polite. 

When it was well over, Prudy said, "The 
next lady that comes here, I hope she won’t 
l)ring any little double What do I 

love little boys for, ’tliout they’re my 
cousins?” 

After the sled was carefully dried, Horace 
printed on it the words "Lady Jane,” in 
large yellow letters. Ilis friend Gilbcri 
found the paint for this, and it was thouglJ 
by both the boys that the sled could not 
have been finer if "Lady Jane” had beer 
spread on with gold-leaf by a sign-painter. 

"Now, Prudy,” said Horace, "it isn’t 
everybody can make such a sled as that J 


SUSY AND PKUDY. 


9a 


It’s right strong, too; as strong as — why, 
it’s strong enough to ' bear up an egg ’ ! ” 

If Iloraee had done only such innocent 
things as to "drill” the little boys, make 
sleds for Prudy, and keep store with Gil- 
bert, his mother might have felt happy. 

But Horace was growing careless. His 
father’s parting words, "Always obey your 
mother, my son, and remember that God 
sees all you do,” did not often ring in his 
ears now. Mr. Clifford, though a kind 
parent, had always been strict in discipline, 
and his little son had stood in awe of him. 
Now that he had gone away, there seemed to 
be some danger that Horace might fall intc 
bad ways. His mother had many serious- 
fears about_ him, for, with her feeble health, 
and the care of little Katie, she could not be 
as watchful of him as she wished to be. 
b’he remembered how ]Mr. Clifford had often 


94 


CAPTAIN IIOIIACE. 


said, "He will either make something oi 
nothing,” and she had answered, "Yes, 
there’ll never 'he any halt-way place for 
Iloraee.” She sighed now as she repeated 
ler own words. 

In his vo^'agcs of discovery Horace had 
found some gunpowder. "Mine!” said he 
to himself; "didn’t* aunt Madge say we 
could have everything we found iip-attic?” 

He knew that he was doing wrong when 
he tucked the powder slyly into his pocket. 
He knew he did wrong when he showed it 
to Gilbert, saying, — 

"Got any matches. Grasshopper?” 

They dug holes in the ground for the 
powder, and over the powder crossed some 
diy sticks. AVhen they touched it off they 
ran away as fast as possible; but it was a 
wonder they were not both blown up. It 
was pleasant, no doubt, to hear the ])oi)ping 


SUSY AND PKUDY. 


95 


of the powder; but they dared not laugh 
too loud, lest some one in the house should 
iiear them, and come out to ask what they 
could be playing that was so remarkably 
funny. 

Mrs. Cliflbrd little thought what a naughty 
thing Horace had been doing, when she 
called him in one day, and said, with a 
smiling face, — for she loved to make him 
happy, — "See, my son, what I have bought 
for you ! It is a present from your father, 
for in his last letter he asked me to get it.” 

Horace fairly shouted with delight when 
he saw the beautiful Zouave suit, gray, 
bordered with red, and a cap to match. If 
he had any twinges of conscience about 
receiving this present, nobody knew it. 

Here is the letter of thanks which he 
wrote to his father : — 


7 


CArXAlN llOliACE. 


9G 


"Dear Papa. 

" I am sorry to say I have not seen yon 
since you went to the war. Grandpa iiasj 
two pigs. I want a drum so much ! 

" We have lots of squirrels : they chip 
We have orioles: they say, 'Here, here. 
here I be ! ’ 

"I want the drum because I am a cajytainl 
We are going to tram with paper caps. 

" I get up the cows and have a good time. 

"Good-by. From your son, 

"Horace P. Clifford. 

"P. S. Ma bought me the soldier- 
clothes. I thank you.” 

About this time Mrs. Clifford was trying to 
put together a barrel of nice things to send 
to her husband. Grandma and aunt Madge 
baked a great many loaves of cake and 
hundreds of cookies, and put in cans of fruit 


SUSY AND riiUDY. 


97 


and boxes of jelly wherever there was room. 
Aunt Louise made a nice little dressing-case 
of bronze kid, lined with silk, and Grace 
made a pretty pen-wiper and pin-balh 
Horace whittled out a handsome steamboat, 
with (jreeii pipes, and the figure-head of an 
old man’s face carved in wood. But Horace 
thought the face looked like Prudy’s, and 
named the steamboat "The Prudy.” He 
also broke open his savings-bank, and 
beo’<>’ed his mother to lay out all the money 
he had in presents for the sick soldiers. 

"Horace has a kind and loving heart,” 
said jNIargaret to Louise. "To be sure he 
won’t keep still long enough to let anybody 
kiss him, but he really loves his parents 
dearly.” 

"Well, he’s a terrible try-patience,” said 
Louise. 

"Wait a while ! He is wilful and naughty, 


CAFIVUN HOUACE. 


i)S 

hut he never tells wrong stories. I think 
there’s hope of a boy who scorns a lie! 
•See if he doesn’t come out right, Louise. 
^Vlly, I expect to be proud of our Iloi’ace 
one of these days ! ” 


12^ THE WOODH. 




CHAPTER VII. 

IN THE WOODS. 

MA,” said Horace, coming into the 
house one morning glowing with excitement, 
"mayn’t I go in the woods Avith Peter 
Grant? He knows Avherc there’s heaps of 
hoxberries.” 

" And Avho is Peter Grant, my son ? ” 

"He is a little boy Avith a bad temper,” 
said aunt Louise, froAAuiing severely at Hor- 
. ace. — If she had had her AATiy, I don’t knoAV 
but every little boy in toAAui A\muld have 
been tied to a bed-post by a clothes-line. 
As I have already said, aunt Louise Avas not 
remarkably fond of children, and aa'Iicii they 


100 


CArTAlN IlOUACE. 


were naughty it was hard for her to forgive 
them. 

She disliked little Peter; but she never 
stoi)ped to think mat ho had a cross and 
Ignorant mother, who managed him so badly 
that he did not care about trying to be good. 
jNlrs. Grant seldom talked with him about 
God and the Saviour ; she never read to him 
from the Bible, nor told him to say his 
prayers. 

jNIrs. Clifford answered Horace that she 
lid not wish him to^ go into the woods, and 
vhat was all that she thought it necessary to 
^ay. 

Horace, at the time, had no idea of diso- 
'oeying his mother; but not long afterwards 
ho happened to go into the kitchen, where 
Ills grandmother was making beer. 

" A^liat do you make it of, grandma ? ’’ 
said he. 


IN THE WOODS. 


101 


"Of molasses and warm water and yeast.” 

" But what gives the taste to it ? ” 

" O, I put in spruce, or boxberry, or 
sarsaparilla.” 

" But see here, grandma : wouldn’t you 
like to have me go in the woods 'some- 
place,’ and dig roots for you?” 

" Yes, indeed, my dear,” said she inno- 
cently ; " and if you should go, pray get 
some wintergreen, by all means.” 

Horace’s heart gave a wicked throb of 
deli<^ht. If some one wanted him to "o 
after something, of course he oiifjld to go ; 
for his mother had often told him he must 
try to be useful. Strolling into the woods 
with Peter Grant, just for fun, was very 
different from going in soberly to dig up 
roots' for grandma. 

He thought of it all the way out to the 
gate. To be sure he might go and ask his 


102 


CAPTAIN IIOKACE 


mother jiguin , but "what was the use, when 
he knew certain sure she’d be willing? 
Besides, wasn’t the baby crying, so he 
mustn’t go in the room?” 

These reasons sounded very well ; but 
they could be picked iu pieces, and Horace 
knew it. It was only when the baby was 
asleep that he nuist keep out of the cham- 
ber ; and, as for being sure that his mother 
would let him go into the woods, the truth 
was, he dared not ask her, for he knew she 
would say, "No.” 

lie found Peter Grant lounging near the 
school-house, scribbling his name on the 
clean white paint under one of the windows. 

Peter’s black eyes twinkled. 

"Going, ain’t you, cap’n ! dog and all? 
But where’s 3'our basket? Wait, and I’ll 
fetch one.” 

"There,” said he, coming back again, "I 


IX TIIK WOODS. 


103 


got th:it out of the stable there at the 
tavern ; Billy Green is hostler : Billy knows 
me.” 

"'Well, Peter, come ahead.” 

"I don’t believe you know your way in 
these ere woods,” returned Peter, Avith an 
air of importance. " I’ll go fust. It’s a 
mighty long stretch, ’most up to Canada ; 
but I could find my Avay in the dark. I 
never got lost anyAvheres yet ! ” 

" Poll ! nor I either,” Horace Avas about 
to say ; but remembering his adventure in 
Cleveland, he droAvned the Avords in a long 
Avhistle. 

They kept on up the steep hill for some 
distance, and then struck oft* into the forest. 
The straight pine trees stood up solemn and 
.stift*. Instead of tender IcaA'os, the}' bristled 
all over Avith dark green "needles.” They 
had no blessings of birds’ nests in their 


104 


CAriAIN IIOIIACE. 


I)r:inchcs ; yet they gave out a pleasant odor, 
which the boys said was " nice.’' 

"But they aren’t so splendid, Peter, as 
our trees out west — don’t begin ! Theij 
grow so big you can’t chop ’em down. I’ll 
leave it to Pincher ! ” 

" Chop ’em down ? I reckon it can’t be 
done ! ” replied Pincher — not in words, but 
by a wag of his tail. 

"Well, how do you get ’em down then, 
cap’ll?” 

"We cut a place right ’round ’em: that’s 
girdlin’ the tree, and then, ever so long 
after, it dies and drops down itself.” 

"O, my stars!” cried Peter, "I want to 
know ! ” 

"Xo, you don’t want to know, Peter, foi 
I just told you ! You may say, 'I wonder,’ 
if you like : that’s what we say out west.” 

"Wait,” said Peter. " I only said, ' 7. want 


IN THE WOODS. 


105 


io know wliat other trees 3 'ou have ; ’ that’s 
what I meant, but you 8liet me right up.” 

" O, there’s the butternut, and tree of 
heaven, and papaw, and ’simmon, and £ 

' right smart sprinkle ’ of Avood-trees.” 

"What’s a ’simmon?” 

" O, it looks like a little baked apple, all 
Avrinkled up ; but it’s right sweet. Ugh ! ” 
added Horace, making a wry face; "you 
better look out Avhen they’re green : they 
pucker your mouth' up a good deal Avorse’n' 
choke-cherries.” 

" IVhat’s a papaAv ? ” 

"A papaw? Well, it’s a curious thing, 
not much account. The pigs cat it. It 
tastes like a custard, right soft and mellow. 
(Jome, let’s go to work.” 

"Well, Avhat’s a tree of heaven?” 

" O, Peter, for pity’s sakes how do I 
know? It’s a tree of heaven, I suppose. 


lOfi 


CAITAIX HORACE. 


rt has pink hollyhocks growing on it. 
What makes yon ask so many questions?” 

Upon that the boys went to work picking 
boxberry leaves, which grew at the roots of 
the pine trees, among the soft moss and last 
year’s cones. Horace was very anxious to 
gather enough for some beer ; but it was 
strange how many it took to fill such ” enor- 
mom biof baskets.” 

O 

"Now,” said Horace, "I move we look 
over yonder for some wintergreen. You 
said you knew it by sight.” 

" Wintergreen ? Avintergreen ? ” echoed 
Peter: "O, yes, I knoAv it well enough. 
It spangles ’round. See, here’s some ; the 
ffii'ls make wreaths of it.” 

It Avas moneywort; but Horace ncA’^cr 
doubted that Peter Avas telling the truth, 
and supposed his grandmother Avould be 
delighted to see such quantities of Avinter- 
green. 


LV THE AVOODS. 


107 


After some time spent in gathering this, 
Horace happened to remember that he 
wanted sarsaparilla. 

”I reckon,” thought he, "they’ll be glad 
I came, if I carry home so manj' things.” 

Peter knew they could find sarsaparilla, 
for there was not a root of any sort which 
did not grow " in the pines ; ” of that he was 
sure. So they struck still deeper into the 
woods, every step taking them farther from 
home. Pincher followed, as happy as a dog 
can be ; but, alas ! never dreaming that seri- 
ous trouble was coming. 

The boj's dug up various roots with their 
jackknives ; but they both knew the taste of 
sarsaparilla, and could not be deceived. 

"AVe hain’t come to it yet,” said Peter; 
" but it’s round here somewheres. I’ll bet a 
dollar.” 

" I’m getting hungry,” said Horace : " isn’t 
it about time for the dinner-bell to ring*'*” 


108 


CAl-TAIX HORACE. 


" Pretty near,” replied Peter, squinting 
his eyes and looking at the sky as if there 
was a noon-mark np there, and he was the 
boy to find it. " That l)ell will ring in fifteen 
minutes : you see if it don’t.” 

But it did not, though it was high noon, 
certainly. Houi's passed. Horace remem- 
bered they were to have had salt codfish and 
cream gravy for dinner. Aunt Madge had 
said so ; also a roly-poly with foaming 
sauce. It must now be long ago since the 
sugar and butter Avere beaten together for 
that sauce. He wondered, if there would be 
any pudding left. He was sure ho should 
like it cold, and a glass of water Avith ice 
in it. 

O, how many times he could have gone 
to the barrel Avhich stood by the sink, and 
drunk such deep draughts of Avater, Avhen 
he didn’t care anything about it ! But now 


IN THE WOODS. 


109 


ho -was so thirsty, and there was not so 
much as a teaspoonful of water to be found ! 

"I motion -we go home,” said Horace, for 
*.it least the tenth time. 

" Well,” replied Peter, sulkily, "ain’t we 
striking a bee-line?” 

" We’ve got turned round,” said Horace : 
"Canada is over yonder, / know.” 

" Pshaw ! no, it ain’t, no such a thing.” 

But they Averc really going the wrong 
way. The village bell had rung at noon, as 
usual, but they were too far off to hear it. 
It was Aveary Avork Avinding in and out, in 
and out, among the trees and stumps. 
With torn clothes, bleeding hands, and tired 
feet, the poor boys pushed on. 

" Of course Ave’re right,” said Peter, in a 
wonld-be brave tone : " don’t you remember 
that stump?” 

" No, I don’t, Peter Grant,” replied Hor- 


no 


CAI*TAIX HOliACE. 


ace, who was losing his patience: "I never 
was here before. Ilinnph ! I thought you 
could find your way with your eyes shut.” 

"Turn and go t’other way, then,” said 
Teter, adding a wicked word I cannot re- 
peat. 

" I will,” replied Horace, coolly : " if I’d 
known you used such swearing words I 
never’d have come ! ” 

"Hollo, there ! ” shouted Peter, a few ino- 
ments after, "I’ll keep with yon, and risk it, 
cap’ll.” 

"Come on, then,” returned Horace, who 
was glad of Peter’s company just now, little 
as he liked him. " Vv'here’s onr baskets?” 
said he, stopping short. 

"Sure enough,” cried Peter; "but wo 
3an’t go back iiow.”v 

ThOy had not gone far when they Averi* 
startled by aery from Pincher, a’siiarp ciy 


IN THE WOODS. 


Ill 


of pain. lie stood stock still, his brown 
eye s ainiost starting from their sockets with 
agony and fear. It proved that he had 
stumbled upon a fox-trap which was con- 
sealed under some dry twigs, and his right 
fore-paw was caught fast. 

Here was a dilemma. The boys tried 
with all their might to set poor Pincher free ; 
but it seemed as if they only made matters 
worse. 

" AVhat an old nuisance of a dog ! ” cried 
Peter; "just as we’d got to goin’ on tlie 
right road.” 

" Be still, Peter Grant ! Ilnsh your 
month ! If you say a word against my dog 
you’ll catch it. Poor little IMncher ! ” said 
Horace, patting him gently and laying his 
cheek doAvn close to his face. 

The suticring creature licked his hands, 
imd said with his clocpacnt eyes, — 

8 


112 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


"Dear little master, don’t take it to hearts 
Vou didn’t know I’d get hurt ! You’ve 
always been good to poor Pincher.” 

"I’d rather have given a dollar,” said IIoi^ 
ace; "O, Pincher! I wish ’twas my foot; I 
tell you I do ! ” 

Tliey tried again, but the trap held the 
dog’s paw like a vice. 

" ril tell you what,” said Peter ; " we’ll 
leave the dog here, and go home and get 
somebody to come.” 

"You just behave, Peter Grant,” said 
Horace, looking very angry. "I shouldn’t 
want to be your dog I Just you hold his 
foot still, and I’ll try again.” 

This time Horace examined the trap on 
all sides, and, being what is called an in- 
genious boy, did actually succeed at last in 
getting little Piiichcr’s foot out. 

" Yliew I I didn’t think you could,” said 
Peter, admiringly. 


IN THE WOODS. 


113 


" You couldn’t, Peter ; you haven’t sense 
enough.” 

The foot was terribly mangled, and 
Pincher had to be carried home in arms. 

"I should like to know, Peter, who set 
that trap. If my father was here, he’d have 
him in the lock-up.” 

"Poll! it wasn’t set for dogs,” replied 
Peter, in an equally cross tone, for both the 
boys were tired, hungry, and out of sorts. 
"Don’t you know nothin’? That’s a bear, 
trap ! ” 

" A bear-trap ! Do you have bears up 
here?” 

" O, yes, dear me, suz : hain’t you seen 
none since you’ve been in the State of Maine ? 
Ive ate ’em lots of times.” 

Peter had once eaten a piece of bear- 
steak, or it might have been moose-meat, 
he was not sure which ; but at any rate ii 


114 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


had been brought down from iSIoosehcad 
Lake. 

" Bears ’round here ? ” thought Horace, in 
a fright. 

He quickened his pace. O, if ho could 
only be sure it was the right road ! Perhaps 
they were walking straight into a den of 
bears. He himjifed little Pincher close in 
his arms, soothing him with pet names ; for 
the poor dog continued to moan. 

" O, dear, dear ! ” cried Peter, " don’t you 
feel awfully?” 

"I don’t stop to think of my feelings,” 
replied Horace, shortly. 

"Well, I wish wo hadn't come — I do.” 

"So do I, Peter. I won’t play 'hookey^ 
^ain ; but I’m not a-goin’ to cry.” 

" I’ll never go anywheres with you anj 
n\>re as long as I live, Horace Clifford ! ” 

'* '\\jbody wants 3 011 to, Pete Grant ! ” 


IX THE WOODS. 


11 ? 


Then they pushed on in dignified silence 
till Peter broke forth again Avith wailing 
sobs. 

"I dread to get home ! O, dear. I’ll have 
to take it, I tell 'you. I guess you’d cry if 
you expected to be whipped.” 

Iloraee made no reply. He did not care 
about telling Peter that he too had a terrible 
dread of reaching home, for there Avas some- 
thing a great deal Avorse than a Avhipping, 
and that Avas, a mother’s sorrowful face. 

"I sliouldn’t care if she’d Avhip me right 
hard,” thought Horace; "but she’ll talk to 
me about God and the Bible, and O, she’ll 
look so Avhite ! ” 

"Peter, you go on ahead,” said he aloud. 

"What for?” 

" O, I Avant to rest a minute Avith Pincher." 

It Avas some moments before Peter Avould 
go, and then he Avent grumbling. As soon 


CAPTAIN IIOKACE. 


ll(j 

as he was out of sight, Horace threw hirri' 
self on his knees and prayed in low tones, — 

" O God, I do want to be a good boy ; and 
if I ever get out of this Avoods I’ll begin ! 
Keep the bears off, iilease do, O God, and 
let us find the way out, and forgive me. 
Amen.” 

Horace had never uttered a more sincere 
prayer in his life. Like many older people, 
he waited till he Avas in sore need before he 
called upon God ; but Avhen he had once 
opened his heart to him, it Avas Avonderful 
hoAV much lighter it felt. 

He rose to his feet and struggled on, say- 
ing to Fincher, "Poor fclloAv, poor fclloAv, 
don’t cry : Ave’ll soon be home.” 

"Hollo there, cap’n ! ” shouted Peters 
"Ave’re cornin’ to a clearin’.” 

"Just as I expected,” thought Horace; 
” why didn’t I pray to God before ? ” 



Ik the Woods. — Page 111. 




CAPTAIN CLirPORD. 


117 


CllAPTEK Vlll. 

CAPTAIN CLIFFORD. 

When Ilonice entered the y:ird, holdin^i! 
the poor dog in his arms, he felt wretche 1 
indeed. At that moment all the sulkiness 
and self-will were crushed out of his littlj 
heart. It seemed to him that never, never 
had there lived upon the earth another boy 
so wicked as himself. 

lie forgot the excuses he had been making 
up about going into the woods because his 
grandmother wanted him to : he scorned 
to add falsehood to disobedience, and was 
more than willing to take his full share 
?f blame. 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


118 

"If nia would Avliip me like every things 
thought the hoy, " 1 know I’d feel better.” 

It was a long, winding path from the gav^i. 
The grounds looked very beautiful in tne 
golden light of the afternoon sun. The 
pink clover-patch nodded with a thousand 
heads, and sprinkled the air with sweetness. 

Everything was very quiet : no one was 
on the piazza, no one at the windows. The 
blinds were all shut, and you could fancy 
that the house had closed its many eyes and 
dropped asleep. There was an awe about 
such perfect silence. "Where coidd Grace 
be, and those two dancing girls, Susy and 
Prudy ? ” 

He stole along to the back door, and 
lifted the latch. His grandmother stopped 
with a bowl of gruel in her hand, and saidj 
" O, Horace !” that was all ; but she could say 
no more for tears. She set down the bowl, 


CAPTAIN CLIFFORD. ^ 1 1 ‘J 

and went up to him, trying to speak ; but the 
words trembled on her lips unspoken. 

"O, grandma ! ” said Horace, setting little 
Pincher down on a chair, and clutching the 
skirt of her dress, ”IVe been right bad : Fir- 
sorry — I tell you I am.” 

Ills grandmother had never heard him 
speak in such humble tones before. 

"O, Horace !” she sobbed again, this time 
clasping him close to her heart, and kissing 
him with a yearning fondness slie had hardly 
ever shown since he was a little toddling 
baby. " My darling, darling boy ! ” 

Horace thought by her manner they must 
all have been sadly frightened about him. 

"I got lost in the woods, grandma; but 
it didn’t hurt me any, only Pincher got his 
foot caught.” 

" Lost in the woods ? ” repeated she : 
” Grace thought you went home to dinner 
with Willy Snow.” 


120 


CAITAIN HORACE. 


So it seemed they liad not worried about 
him at all : then Avhat was grandma crying 
about ? 

"Don’t go np stairs, dear,” said she, as he 
!)riished past her and laid his hand on the 
latch of the chamber door. 

"But I want to see ma.” 

" Wait a little,” said Mrs. Parlin, with a 
fresh burst of tears. 

" Why, what is the matter, grandma ; and 
where’s Grace, and Sus}^ and Priidy?” 

"Grace is with your mother, and the other 
children are at aunt Martha’s. But if you’ve 
been iii the woods all day, Horace, you must 
be very hungry.” 

"You’ve forgot Pincher, grandma.” 

The boy would not taste food till the 
log’s foot had been bandaged, though, all 
the Avhile his grandmother was doing up the 
wound, it seemed to Ihuvice that she must 


CAPTAIN CLIFFORD. 


121 


be thinking of something else, or she would 
pity Pineher a great deal more. 

The cold dinner which she set out on the 
table was very tempting, and he ate heart' 
ily ; but after every mouthful he kept ask- 
ing, "What could be the matter? Was 
baby worse ? Had anybody took sick ? ” 

But his grandmother stood by the stove 
stirring gruel, and would answer him noth- 
ing but, " I’ll let you know very soon.” 

She wanted the little boy to be rested and 
refreshed by food before she told him a very 
liainfnl thing. Then she took him up stairs 
with her into her own chamber, which was 
rpiite shady with grape-vines, and so still 
that }'ou could only hear the buzzing of two 
or three flies. 

She had brought a bowl of hot gruel on a 
little waiter. She jilaced the waiter on the 
toj) of her washing-stand, and seated herself 


122 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


on the bed, drawing Horace down beside 
her. 

" My dear little gi’andson,” said she, 
stroking his bright hair, " God has beei: 
very good to you always, always, lie loves 
you better than you can even think.” 

" Yes, grandma,” answered Horace, be- 
wildered. 

" He is your dear Father in heaven,” she 
added, slowl}'. ”He wants yon to love liini 
with all your heart, for now — you have no 
other father ! ” 

Horace sprang up from the bed, his eyes 
wild with fear and surprise, yet having no 
idea what she meant. 

"Why, my father’s captain in the army 
He’s down South ! ” 

" But have you never thought, dear, that 
he might be shot?” 

"No, I never,” cried Horace, running tc 


CAPTAIN CLIFFORD. 


123 


rhe window and back again in great excite- 
ment. "Mr. Evans said they’d put him in 
colonel. He was coming home in six 
months. He couldn’t be shot ! ” 

" My dear little boy ! ” 

"But O, grandma, is he killed? Say 
quick ! ” ' 

Ilis grandmother took out of her pocket 
a Boston Journal, and having put on her 
spectacles, pointed with a trembling finger 
to the list of "killed.” One of the first 
names was "Captain Henry S. Clifford.” 

" O, Horace ! ” said Grace, opening the 
door softl3', "I just thought I heard you, 
Ala wants you to come to her.” 

Without speaking, Horace gave his hand 
lo his sister, and went with her while their 
grandmother followed, carrying the bowl of 
gruel. 

At the door of Mrs. Clifford’s room they 


124 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


met aunt Louise coming out.- The sight of 
Horace and Grace walking tearfully, hand in 
hand, was very touching to her. 

"You dear little fatherless children,” she 
whispered, throwing her arms around them 
both, and dropping tears and kisses on their 
faces. 

" O, I can’t, I can’t bear it,” cried Gnice ; 
" my own dear papa, that I love best of any 
one in all the world ! ” 

Horace ran to his mother, and throwing 
nimsclf on the bed beside her, buried his 
face in the pillows. 

" O, ma ! I reckon ’tisn’t true. It’s 
another Captain Clifford.” 

His mother lay so very white and still 
that Horace dre\v away when he had touched 
her : there was something awful in the cold- 
ness of her face. Her beautiful brown eyes 
shone bright and tearless ; but there were 


CAPTAIX CLIFFORD. 


125 


dark hollows under them, deep enough to 
hold many tears, if the time should ever 
come when she might shed them. 

"O, little Horace,” whispered she, "moth* 
er’s little Horace ! ” 

"Darling mamma!” responded the bo}^ 
kissing her pale lips and smoothing the hair 
away from her checks with his small fingers, 
which meant to move gently, but did not 
know how. And then the young, childish 
heart, with its little load of grief, was pressed 
close to the larger heart, wdiose deep, deep 
sorrow only God could heal. 

They are wrong who say that little chil- 
dren cannot receive lasting impr<^ssion3. 
There are some hours of joy or agony "vrliirk 
they never forget. This was such an bout 
for Horace. He could almost feel ag.ab; cn 
his forehead the warm good-by kisses of 
Ids father ; he could almost hear again <ho 
words, — 


m 


CAI’TAIN lIOliACE. 


" Always obey your mother, my son, and 
remember that God sees all you do/* 

Ah, he had not obeyed, he had not 
.rememl)ered. 

And that dear father would never kiss 
him, never speak to him again ! He had 
not thought before what a lono; word Never 
was. 

O, it was dreadful to shut his eyes and 
fancy him lying so cold and still on that 
bloody battle-field ! Would all this awful 
thing be true to-morrow morning, when he 
waked up ? 

” O, mamma,” sobbed the desolate child, 
"I and Grace will take care of you! Just 
forgive me, ma, a*nd I’ll be the best kind of 
a boy. I will, I will I ” 

Grandma had already led Grace away into 
the green chamber, where aunt INIadge sat 
with the baby. The ])oor little girl would 
not be comforted. ' 


CAPTAIN CLIFFORD. 


127 


"O, grandma,” she cried, "if we could 
know who it was that shot pa our mayor 
would hang him ! I do wish I could die, 
grandma. I don’t want to kceji living and 
living in this great world without my 
father ! ” 


CAl’TAlN IlOliACK.. 


l^'cS 


CHAPTER IX. ^ 

THE BLUE BOOK. 

Days passed, but there was the same hush 
upon the house. Everybody moved about 
softly, and spoke in low tones. Horace was 
not* told that he must go to school, but he 
knew aunt Louise thought his shoes made a 
great deal of noise, and just now he wanted 
to please even her. More than that, it Avas 
very pleasant to see the boys ; and Avhile he 
was playing games he forgot his sorrow, and 
forgot his mother’s sad face. There was one 
thing, hoAvever, Avhich he could not do : he 
had not the heart to be captain, and drill his 
company, just now. 

"Horace,” said Grace, as they were sit- 


TIIK BLUE BOOK. 


121 ) 


ting on the piazza steps one morning, I 
heard ma tell grandma yesterday, you’d been 
a better boy this week than you had been 
before since — since — pa went away.” 

"Did she?” cried Horace, eagerly ; "where 
was she when she said it? What did. 
grandma say ? Did aunt Madge hear her ? ” 

"Yes, aunt Madge heard her, and she 
said she always knew Horace would be a 
good l)oy if he would only think.” 

"Well, I do think,” replied Horace, look- 
ing very much pleased ; " I think about all 
the time.” 

"But then, Horace, you know how you’ve 
acted some days ! ” 

"Weil, I don’t care. Aunt Madge says 
’tisn’t so easy for boys to be good.” 

Grace opened her round blue eyes in 
wonder. 

"Why, Horace, I have to make my own 


130 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


I)ctl, and sweep and dust my room, and take 
care of my drawers. Only think of that ; 
and Prndy always round into things, yon 
know ! Then I have to sew, O, so much ! I 
reckon you wouldn’t find it very easy being 
a girl.” 

"Poll! don’t I have to feed the chickens, 
and bring in the eggs, and go for the cows? 
And when we lived home ” 

Here Horace broke down ; he could not 
think of home without remembering his 
father. 

Grace burst into tears. The word "home” 
had called up a beautiful picture of her 
father and mother sitting on the sofa in the 
lilirary, Horace and Pincher lying on the 
floor, the door open from the balcony, and 
the moon filling the room with a soft b’ght : 
her father had a smile on his face, and was 
holding her hand. 


THE BLUE JiOOK. 


131 


All ! Grace, and Horace, and their inothei 
would see many such pictures of‘ nieiuory. 

"Well, sister,” said Horace, speaking 
quite slowly, and looking down at the grass, 
" what do I do that’s bad ? ” 

"Why, Horace, I shouldn’t think you’d 
ask ! Blowing gunpowder, and running oil* 
into the Avoods, and most killing Pincher, 
and going trouting down to the 'crick’ Avith 
yonr best clothes on, and disobeying your 
ma, and ” 

" Sayin’ bad Avords,” added Horace 'but 
I stopped that this morning.” 

"What do you mean, Horace?” 

"O, I said over all the bad things I could 
think of ; not the SAvearin’ Avords, you know, 
but 'shucks,’ and 'gallus,’ and 'bully,’ and 
'by hokey,’ and 'by George;’ and it’s the 
last time.” 

" 0, I’m so glad, Horace ! ” cried Grace, 


132 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


clapijihg her hands and laughing ; " and yoi> 
won’t blow any more powder?’' 

Horace shook his head. 

•'XorrunofT again? Why, you’ll he like 
.\lly Glover, and you know I’m trying to be 
like little Eva.” 

"I don’t want to be like Ally Glover,” 
replied Horace, making a wry face ; " he’s 
lame, and besides, he’s too dreadful good.” 

"Why, Horace,” said his sister, solemnly; 
"anybody can’t be too good ; ’tisn’t possible.” 

"Well, then, he’s just like a girl — that’s 
what ! I’m not going to be ' characteristic ’ 
any more, but I don’t want to be like a girl 
neither. Look here, Grace ; it’s school time. 
Xow don’t you ' let on ’ to ma, or anybody, 
hat I’m going to be better.” 

Grace promised, Imt she wondered why 
Horace should not wish his motncr to kiu.w 
lie was trying to ])C good, when it would 
make her so happy. 


THE liLUE HOOK. 


133 


” lie's afriiitl he’ll give it up,” thought she; 
''but I won’t let him.” 

She sat on the piazza steps a long while 
ifter lie had gone. At last a bright idea 
flashed across her mind, and of course she 
dropped her work and clapped her hands, 
though she was quite alone. 

" I’ll make a merit-book like Miss All’n’s, 
and put down black marks for him when 
he’s naughty.” 

3Vhcn Horace came home that night, he 
was charmed with the plan, foi he was really 
in earnest. His kind sister made the book 
very neatly, and sewed it into a cover of 
glossy blue paper. She thought they would 
try it f >ur weeks ;*so she had pat in tAvcnt} = 
eight pages, each page standing for one day. 

"Now,” said she, "when you say one bad 
word I’ll put down 'one B. W.’ for short; 
but when you say two bad words, ’twill be 


131 


CAPTAIN HOKACE. 


Hwo 13. W.j’yoii know. When yon l)lov; 
gunpowder, that’il be ' B. G.’ — no, 'B. G. 
P.,’ for gunpowder is two words.” 

"And when I run off, ’twill be 'R. O.’ ” 

"Or 'R. A.,’ said Grace, for 'ran away.” 

•'And 'T.’ for 'troutin’,’ said Horace, who 
was getting very much interested : " and — 
and — ' P. A. L.’ for 'plaguing aunt Louise,’ 
and ' C.’ tor ' characteristic,’ and ' L. T.’ for 
' losinor things.’ ” 

O O 

"O, dear, dear, Horace, the book won’t 
begin to hold it ! We innstn’t put down 
those little things.” 

" But, Grace, you know I shan’t do ’em 
any more.” 

# 

Grace shook her head, and sighed. " We 
won’t put down all those little things,” re 
peated she ; " we’ll have ' D.’ for ' disobedi’ 
ence,’ and ' B. AV.,’ and — O! one thing 1 
forgot — 'F.’ for 'falsehood.” 


THE HLUE BOOK. 


135 


Well, you won’t get any F’s out of me, 
by hokey,” said Horace, snapping his fingers. 

" Why, there it is, 'one B. W.’ so cpiick ! ' 
cried Grace, holding up both hands anu 
laugliing. 

Horace opened his mouth in surprise, and 
then clapped his hand over it in dismay. It 
was not a very fortunate beginning. 

"Look here, Grace,” said he, making a 
wry face; "I move we call that.no ’count, 
and commence new to-morrow ! ” 

So Grace waited till next day before she 
dated the merit-book. 

All this while Fincher’s foot wais growing 
no better. Aunt Louise said you could 
almost sec the poor dog ' dwindle, peak, and 
pine.’ ” 

" But it’s only his hui-t,” said Grace 5 
"’tisn’t a sickness.” 

"I reckon,” returned Horace, sadly, ‘'it 
isn’t a wellness^ neither.” 


CAITAIN IIOKACE. 


13 () 


"Why not send for Mrs. Duffy?” siig 
gested aunt Madge. "If any one can help 
the poor creature, it is she.” 

Mrs. Dufiy was the village washerwoman, 
and a capital nurse. It was an anxious 
moment for little Horace, when she un- 
wrapped the crushed paw', Pincher moan- 
ing all the while in a way that went to the 
heart. 

" Wull,” said Mrs. Duffy, who spoke 
with a l)rogue, " it’s a bad-looking fut ; but 
I’ve some intment here that’ll do no har-rum, 
and it may hulp the poor eraycher.” 

She put the salve on some clean linen 
cloths, and bound up the wound, bidding 
them all oe very careful that the dog " didn’t 
stir his fut.” 

" O, but he don’t want to stir ! ” said Hor- 
ace. " He just lies down by the stove all 
day.” 


THE BLUE BOOK. 


137 


Mrs., Duffy shook her head, and said, "he 
was a pooty craycher ; ’twas more the pities 
that he ever went off in the wiids.” 

Horace hung his head. O, if he could 
have blotted out that day of disobedience ! 

"Wasn’t it a real rebel, heathen man,” 
cried Prudy, " to put the trap where Pincher 
sticked his foot in it?” 

Pincher grew worse and worse. lie re- 
fused his food, and lay in a basket with a 
cushion in it, by the kitchen stove, where he 
might have been a little in the way, though 
not even aunt Louise ever said so. 

If Grace, or Susy, or Prudy, Avent up to 
him, he made no sign. It Avas only Avhen 
he saw his little master that he Avonld Avag 
his tail for joy ; but even that effort seemed 
to tire him, and he liked better to lick 
Horace’s hand, and look np at his face with 
eyes brimful of love and agony. 


138 


C.vrTAlX lIOIiACK. 


Horace would sit by the half hour, coax- 
ing him to eat a bit of broiled steak or the 
wing of a chicken ; but though the poor dog 
would gladly have pleased his young master^ 
he could hardly force himself to swallow a 
mouthful. 

These were sad days. Grace put down 
now and then a ''B. W.” in the blue book : 
but as for disobedience, Horace had just 
now no temptation to that. He could hardly 
think of anything but his dog. 

Pincher was about his age. He could not 
remember the time when he first knew him. 
"O, Avhat jolly times they had had together ! 
How often Pincher had trotted along to 
ichool, carrying the satchel with the scliool- 
/)ooks in his teeth. Why, the boys all 
loved him, they just loved him so.” 

"No, sir,” «aid Horace, talking to himself, 
and laying the dog’s head gently on his 


iiii*: liLUi: J500K. 


139 


knee: ''there Avasn’t one of them Init just 
Avished they had him. But, poh ! I Avoiddn’t 
liave sold him for all the camions and tire- 
crackers in the United States. No, not for a 
real drum, either; Avonld I, Fincher?” 

Horace really believed the dog understood 
him, and many Av^ere the secrets he had 
poured into his faithful ears. Fincher Avould 
listen, and Avink, and Avag his tail, but AA'as 
sure to keep eA'erything to himself. 

" I tell you Avhat it is, Fincher,” Horace 
burst forth, "Fm not going to have you die ! 
iMy oAvn pa gave you to me, and you’re the 
best dog that ever lived in this Avorld. O, 
I didn’t mean to catch your foot in that ti-ap I 
Eat the chicken, there’s a good felloAV, and 
'vve'll cure you all up.” 

But Fincher couldn’t cat the chicken, and 
couldn’t be cured. His eyes greAV larger 
and sadder, but there Avas the same paticnl 


140 


CArxAiN iioua(;k. 


look in them always. He fixed them or- 
Horace to the last, with a dying gaze which 
made the boy’s heart swell with bitter 
sorrow. 

” He wanted to speak, he wanted to ask 
me a question,” said Horace, with sobs he 
did not try to control. 

O, it was sad to close those beautiful 
eyes forever, those beseeching eyes, which 
could almost speak. 

Mrs. Clifford came and knelt on the stone 
hearth beside. the basket, and wept freely 
for the first time since her husband’s death. 

"Dear little Pinchcr,” said she, " 3*011 have 
died a cruel death ; but 3*our dear little 
master closed your C3^cs. It was very hard, 
poor doggie, but not so hard as the battle- 
field. Yon shall have a quiet grave, good 
Pincher ; but wheie have they buried oui 
brave soldier ? ” 



Captain Horace and his Dog. Page 138. 



I 


' M * 













' 



V 










Tl.ViiNU TO GET RICH. 


141 


CHAPTER X. 

TRYING TO GET RICH. 

With his own li.Tiuls, .and the liolp of 
Grasshopper, who did little hut hold the 
nails and look on, Horace made a box for 
Pincher, Avhile Aimer dug his grave nndciGi 
tree in the grove, 

It was evening when thc}^ all followed 
Pincher to his last resting-place. 

'* He was a sngar-plnm of a dog,” said 
Prndy, "and I can’t help crying.” 

" 1 don’t want to help it,” said Grace : 
"we ought to cry.” 

" "What makes me feel the worst,” said 
sober little Susy, " he won't go to heaven.” 


"Not forever’ll ever amen?'’ gasped 
Prudy, in 'a low voiee : " wouldn’t he if he 
had a nice casket, and a plate on it neither?” 

The sky and earth were very lovely that 
<;vening, and it seemed as if everybody 
ought to be heart-glad. I doubt if Horace 
had ever thought before what a beautiful 
world he lived in, and how glorious a thing 
it is to be alive ! He could run about and 
do what he pleased with himself; but alas, 
j)oor Pincher ! 

The sun was setting, antV the river looked 
uncommonly full of little sparkles. The 
soft sky, and the twinkling water, seemed to 
be smiling at each other, while a great way 
oft' you could tscc t’nc dim blue mountains 
rising up like clouds. Such a lovely world ! 
Ah ! poor Pincher. 

It looked very much as if Horace were 
really turning over a new leaf. He was still 


TKYIXG TO OKT HIGH. 


143 


quite trying sometimes, leuving the milk- 
room door open when puss was watching for 
the cream-pot, or slamming the kitchen door 
Avith a hang Avhen everybody needed fresh 
air. lie still kept his chamber in a state of 
confusion, — " muss,” Grace called it, — 
' pulling the drawers out of the hureaii, and 
scattering the contents over the lloor ; dro[)- 
})ing his clothes anywhere it happened, and 
carrying quantities of gravel up stairs in 
his shoes. 

Aunt Louise still scolded al)out him ; hut 
even she could not help, seeing that on the 
whole he Avas improving. He "cared” 
more and "forgot” less. He could ahvTiys 
learn easily, and noAv he really tried to 
learn. His lessons, instead of going through 
his head " threading my grandmother’s nee- 
dle,” AA'ent in and staid there. The hhie 
hook got a few marks, it is true, but not so 
many as at lirst. 


144 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


You may be sure there was not a good 
thing said or done by Horace which did not 
give plea'sure to his mother. She felt now 
as if she lived only for her children ; if God 
would bless her by making them good,. she 
had nothing more to desire. Grace had 
always been a womanly, thoughtful little 
gill, but at this time she was a greater com- 
fort than ever ; and Horace had grown so 
tender and affectionate, that it gratified her 
very much. He was not content noAv with 
" canary kisses ; ” but threw his arms around 
her neck very often, saying, with his lips 
close to her cheek, — 

"Don’t feel bad, ma : I’m going to take 
care of you.” 

For his mother’s grief called forth his 
manliness. 

She meant to be cheerful ; but Horace 
knew she did not look or seem like herself: 


TRYING TO GET RICH. 


14.5 


ho thought he ought to try to make her 
happy. 

Whenever* he asked for money, as he too 
often did, she told him that now his fatlier 
was gone, there was no one to earn any- 
thing, and it Avas best to bo rather prudent. 
He wanted a drum; but she thought he 
must wait a while for that. 

They Avere far from bciug poor, and Mrs. 
Clilford had no idea. of deceiving her little 
son. Yet he was deceived, for he supposed 
that his mother’s pretty little porte-monnaio 
held all the bank-bills and all the silver she 
had in the Avorld. 

"(), Grace!” said Horace, coming doAvn 
stairs Avith a very grave face, "I Avish I Avas 
groAvn a man : then I’d earn money like 
sixty.” 

Grace stop^ied her singing long enough to 


UG 


CAIT'AIN HORACE. 


ask what ho meant to do, and then continued 
in a high key, — 

■' Where, O where arc the IIcl)rew chil- 
Iren?” 

" O, I’m going as a soldier,” replied Hor- 
ace : ” 1 thought everybody knew that ! 
’Che colonels make a heap of money ! ” 

"But, Horace, you might get shot — just 
think ! ” 

"Then I’d dodge when they fired, for I 
don’t know what you and ma would do if 1 
was killed.” 

"Well, please step out of the way, Hor- 
ace ; don’t you see I’m sweeping the piazza?” 

"I can’t tell,” pursued he, taking a scat on 
one of the stairs in the hall : " I can’t tell 
certain sure ; but I may be a minister.” 

This was such a funny idea, that Grace 
made a dash with her l)room, and sent the 
dirt flying the wrong way. 


TUVINO TO OET KICK. 


147 


" Why, Horace, you’ll never be good 
enough for a minister ! ” 

"What’ll you bet?” replied he, looking a 
little mortified. 

"I’on’re getting to be a dear good little 
boy, Horace,” said Grace, soothingly ; " but 
I don’t think you’ll ever be a minister,” 
"Perhaps I’d as soon be a shoemaker,” 
continued Horace, thoughtfully; "they get 
a great deal for tappin’ boots.” 

His sister^ made no reply. 

" See here, now, Grace : perhaps you’d 
rather I’d be a tin-j)edler ; then I’d always 
keep a horse, and you could ride.” 

"Hide in a eai-t ! ” cried Grace, laughing. 
"Can’t you think of anything else? Have 
you forgotten papa ? ” 

"O, now I know,” exclaimed Iloraee, with 
shining eyes : " it’s a lawyer I’ll be, just like 
father was. I’ll have a ' sleepy partner,’ the 


118 


CAITAIX IlOllACE. 


Aviiy Judge Ingle liiis, and l)y and by I’ll be 
a judge.” 

"I know that would please ma, Horace," 
replied Grace, looking at her little brother 
with a good deal of pride. 

Who know l)ut he might yet be a judge? 
She liked to order him about, and have him 
yield to her: still she had great faith in 
Horace. 

" But, Grace, after all that I’ll go to war, 
and turn out a general ; now you sec if I 
don’t.” 

"That’ll be a great while yet,” said Grace, 
sifTfhing. 

o O 

"So it Avill,” replied Horace, sadly; "and 
ma needs the money now. I wish I could 
earn something right off while I’m a little 
boy.” 

It was not two days before he thought he 
had found out how to get rich ; in what way 
Vou shall see. 


TIIK LITTLE INDIAN. 


Ml) 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE LITTLE INDIAN. 

PiiUDY cMinc into the house one tlay in a 
great fright, ancl said they’d "better hide the 
Vialiy, for there was a very wicked woman 
round.” 

"Her liair looks like a horse’s tail,” said 
she, " and she’s got a black man’s he.t on her 
head, and a table-. -loth over her.” 

Aunt Madge took Priidy in her hq), and 
told her it was only an Indian woman, who 
nad no idea of harming any one. 

" What are Xindians? ” asked the child. 

Her aunt said they were sometimes called 
'' red men.” The country had once been Idled 


150 


CAI’TALN HORACE. 


by them; but the English came, a great 
many years ago, and shook otf the red men 
just as a high wind shakes the red leaves oil 
a tree ; and they were scattered about, and 
only a few were left alive. Sometimes the 
Oldtown Indians came round making bas- 
kets ; but they were quiet and peaceable 
people. 

Horace and his friend ” Grasshopper,” as 
they were strolling up the river, came upon 
a tent made of canvas, and at the door of 
the tent sat a little boy about their own age, 
with a bow and arrow in his hand, in the 
act of firing. 

Grasshopper, who was always a coward, 
ran with all his. might ; but as Horace hap- 
pened to notice that the arrow Avas pointed 
at something across the river, he Avas not 
alarmed, but stopped to look ;\t the odd 
little stranger, Avho turned partly rf*»md and 


THE LITTLE INDLVN. 


151 


returned his gaze. Ilis eyes Avere keen and 
black, Avitli a good-natured expression, some- 
thing like the eyes of an intelligent dog. 

” "What’s your name, boy?” said Horace. 

'' ]Me no understand.” 

■' I asked Avhat your name is,” continued 
Horace, who was sure the 1)oy understood, 
in spite of his blank looks. 

]\Io no hurt Avhite folks ; me bunkum 
Indian.” 

"Well, what’s your name, then? What 
do they call you?” 

No ansAver, but a shake of the head. 

"I reckon they call you John, don’t they?” 

Here the boy’s mother appeared at the 
door. 

"His name no John! Eshy-ishy-oshy 
neeshy - George - AVampum - Shoony - Katoo i 
short name, speak uni (jiiick ! — JaAr-aAi n ! 
Great long name ! ” druAvled she, stretching 


152 


CAl'TAIN IlOKACE. 


it out US if it were made of India rubber^ 
and scowling with an air of disgust. 

"What does she mean by calling 'John' 
loiKj?'^ thought Horace. 

The woman wore a calico dress, short 
enough to reveal her brown, stockingless 
feet and gay moccasons. 

Her hair was crow-black, and strayed 
over her shoulders and into her eyes. Hor- 
ace concluded she must have lost her back- 
comb. 

While he was looking at her with curious 
eyes, her daughter came to the door, feeling 
a little cross at the stranger, whoever it 
might be ; but when she saw only an inno^ 
cent little boy, she smiled pleasantly, show- 
ing a row of white teeth. Horace thought 
her rather handsome, for she was very 
straight and slender, and her eyes shone like 
glass beads. Her hair he considered a great 


THE LITTLE INDIAN. 


153 


deal blacker than black, and it was braided 
and tied with gay red ribbons. She was 
dressed in a bright, large-figured calico, and 
from her ears were suspended the longest, 
yellowest, queerest, ear-rings. Horace 
thought they were shaped like boat-pad- 
dles, and would be pretty for Prudy to use 
when she row^ed her little red boat in the 
bafhing-tub. If they only "scooped” a 
little more they would answ^er for tea-spoons. 
"Plenty big as 1 should want for tea-spoons,” 
he decided, after another gaze at them. 

The young girl was used to being admired 
by her own people, and was not at all dis- 
pleased with Plorace for staring ‘at her. 

"Me think you nice white child,” said 
she: "you get me sticks, me make you 
basket, pretty basket for put apples in.” 

"What kind of sticks do you mean?” 
said Horace, forgetting that they pretended 


154 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


not to understand English. But it appeared 
that they knew very well what he meant this 
time, and the Indian hoy offered to go with 
him to point out the place where the wood 
was to be found. Grasshopper, who had 
only hidden behind the trees, now eame out 
and joined the boys. 

''Wampum,” as he ehose to be called, led 
them back to Mr. Parlin’s grounds, to the 
lower end of the garden, where stood some 
tall silver poplars, on which the Indians laid 
looked with longing eyes. 

"Me shin them trees,” said Wampum; 
"me make you basket.” 

"Would you lot him. Grasshopper?” 

" Yes, indeed ; jmur grandfather won’t 
- care.” 

"Perhaps he might; you don’t know,” 
isaid Horace, who, after he had asked ad^ 'co, 
was far from feeling obliged to take it. IP 


THE LITTLE INDIAN. 


155 


mil ill great haste to the field Avhere liis 
grandfather ivas hoeing potatoes, thinking, 
"If I ask, then I shan’t get marked in the 
hlne book anyhow.” 

In this case Horace acted very properly, 
lie had no right to cut the trees, or allow 
any one else to cut them, without leave. To 
Ids great delight, his grandfather said he did 
not care if they clipped oft' a fcAv hranehes 
where they would not ;8how much. 

AMicn Horace got back and reported the 
words of his grandfather, Wampimi did luit 
even smile, but shot a glance at him as keen 
as an arrow. 

" He no hurt trees,” said he, gravely ; and 
he did not : he only cut olF a few limbs froir 
each one, leaving the trees as handsome as 
ever. 

"Bully for 3'ou ! ” cried Horace, forgettino 
the blue book. 


15G 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


''He’s as spT}^ as a squirrel,” said Grass- 
hopper, in admiration; "how many boughs 
has he got? One, two, three.” 

" jNIe say ’em quickest,” cried little Wam- 
pum. "Een, teen, teddery, peddery, bimp, 
satter, latter, doe, dommy, diek.” 

"That’s ten,” put in Horace, who was 
keeping ’eoimt. 

"Een-dick,” continued the little Indian, 
"Icen-dick, tcddcry-dick, peddery-dick, 
bumpin, cen-bnmpin, tcen-bnmpin, tcddery- 
bumpin, pcddcry-bnmpin, jiggets.” 

"Iloilo !” cried Grasshopper; "that’s twen- 
ty; jiggets is twenty;” and he rolled over 
on the ground, laughing as if he had made 
a great discovery. 

Little by little they made Wampum tell 
how he lived at home, 3 vhat sort of boys he 
pla 3 'ed with, and Avhat they had to eat. 
Tlie ^miing Indian assured them that at Old- 


THE LITTLE IXDI^VX. 


157 


town '' ho liv'cci in ;i house good as Avhite 
folks ; he ate mo(;se-ineat, ate sheep-meat, 
ate cow-meat.” 

" Cook out doors, I s’pose,” said Grass- 
hopper, 

Wampum looked very severe. "When 
me lives in wigwam, me has fires in wigwam : 
when me lives in tent, mo puts fires on 
grass; — keep off them things/’ he added, 
pointing at a mosquito in the air; "keep 
smoke out tent,” pointing upward to show 
'he motion of the smoke. 

Horace felt so much pleased with his new 
companion, that Im resolved to treat him to 
a ’.vaternielon. So, without saying a -word 
to the boys, he ran into the house to ask his 
grandmother. 

"What! a whole Avatermelon, Horace?” 

" Ves, grandma, we tlnve ; me, and Gras^ 
hoiiper, and Wampum.” 


15S 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


]\Irs. Parlin could not help smilin" to see 
how suddenly Horace had adopted a new 
friend. 

"You may have a melon, but I think your 
mother would not like to have jmu play 
much with a strange boy.” 

"He’s going to make me a splendid bas- 
ket ; and besides, aren’t Indians and negroes 
as good as white folks? ’Specially fcwie 
Indians,” said Horace, not ver^" rcspectfullj', 
as he ran back, shoe-knife in hand, to cut 
the wateianelon. 

This was the beginning of a hasty friend- 
ship between himself and Wampum. For a 
few days there was nothing so charming tc 
Horace as the wild life of this Indian family. 
He was made welcome at their tent, and 
often went in to sec them make baskets. 

'I trust you,” said Mrs. Clifford; "you 
*^.Tli not deceive me, Horace. If yen ever 


THE LITTLE INDIAN. 


159 


find that little Wampum says bad words, 
tolls falsehoods, or steals, I shall not be will- 
ing for yon to play with him. Yoi: are very 
ycung, and might be greatly injured by ? 
l‘ad playmate.” 

The tent was rude enough. In one corner 
were skins laid one over another : these were 
the beds which were spread out at night for 
the family. Instead of closets and presses, 
all the w'caring apparel w^as hung on a long 
rope, w^hich was stretched from stake to 
stake, in various directions, like a clothes- 
line. 

It wTas curious to Avatch the brown fingers 
moA'ing so easily oA'cr the Avhitc strips, out 
of Avhich they aa'oa’^c baskets. It Avas such 
pretty Avork ! it brought so much money. 
Horace thought it Avas just the business foi 
him, and Wampum promised to teach him. 
In return for this favor, Horace Avas to in- 
struct the little Indian in spelling. 


CAPTAIN llOKACK. 


KJO 

For ciie or two evenings he appointed 
meetings in the summer-house, and really 
went without his own slice cf oake, that he 
might give it to poor Wampum, after a les- 
son in ” baker.” 

He received the basket in due tim*^ « 
beautiful one — red, white, and blue. Just 
as he was carrying it home on his arm, he 
met Billy Green, the hostler, who stopped 
him, and asked if he remembered going into 
" the Pines ” one day Avith Peter Grant ? 
ITorace had no reason to forget it, surely. 

"Seems to me yea :^:an away with my 
horse-basket,” said Billy ; " but I never 
knew till yesterday Avhat had ’come of it.” 

"Thpre, now,” replied Horace, quite crest- 
fallen ; " Peter Grant took that ! I forgot 
all about it.” 

^Vhat should be done? It would never 
do to ask hl3 mrJher for the money, since, 


THE LITTLE INDIAN. 


161 


as he believed, she had none to spare. 
was fond of joking with little boys. 

"Look here, my fine fellow,” said he, 
" give ns that painted concern yoif ve got on 
your arm, and m'c’U call it square.” 

"Xo, no, Billy,” cried Horace, drawing 
away; "this is a present, and I couldn’t. 
But I’m learning to Avcave baskets, and I’ll 
make you one — see if I don’t ! ” 

Billy laughed, and went away whistling. 
He had no idea that Horace would ever 
think of the matter again ; but in truth the 
first article the boy tried to make Avas a 
horse-basket. 

"Me tell you somethin,” said little Waim 
pum, next morning, as ho and Horace Avere 
crossing the field together. "Very much 
me AA'ant um, — um, — um,” — putting hi? 
fingers up to his mouth in a manner Avhich 
signified that he meant something to eat. 


162 


CA'i-TAIN HORACE. 


" Don’t iiiiclcrstaiid,” said Horace : " say it 
ill English.” 

"Very much me want imi,” continued 
Vampum, in a beseeching tone. "Ko tell 
what you call um. E’enamost water, no 
quite water ; e’enamost punkin, no quite 
pnnkin.” 

" Poll ! you mean watermelon,” laughed 
Horace : " should think you’d remember that 
as easy as pumpkin.” 

" Very much me want um,” repeated 
Wampum, delighted at being understood ; 
"me like um.” 

"Well,” replied Horace, "they aren’t mine.” 

"O, yes. Ugh! you’ve got ’em. jMelon- 
water good ! Me have melon- waters, me 
give 3'ou moc-suns.” 

"I’ll ask my grandpa, Wampum.” 

Hereupon the crafty litPc Indian shook 
his head. 


VUE LITTLE INDIAN. 


163 


"You link olc inun, luc no give you mac- 
suns ! ]Mc no •want een — me -want bimp — ■ 
humpin — jiggets.” 

Horace’s stout little heart Avavered for a 
moment. He lancied moccasins very nine... 
In his mind’s eye he saw a pair shining Avith 
all the colors of the rainboAv, and as Ybun- 
j)uni had said ot the melons, A'cry much ho 
Avanted them.” Hoaa^ handsome they’d be 
Avith his Zouave suit ! 

But the AATivering did not last long. Ho 
remembered the blue book Avhich his mother 
Avas to sec next Avcck ; tor then the month 
Avould be out. 

"It Avouldn’t be a 'D.,”’ thought he, "for 
nobody told me not to give the Avater- 
melons.” 

"No,” said Conscience; "’tAvould be s 
black S. ; that stands for stealing ! AVhat, a 
boy with a dead father, a dead soldier- 


1G4 


CAPTAIX HORACE. 


father, steal! A boy called Horace Clif- 
ford ! The boy -whose father had said, 'Re- 
member God secs all you do ! ’ ” 

" Wampum,” said Horace, firmly, " you 
just stop that kind of talk ! Moccasins are 
right pretty ; but I -wouldn’t stea/, no, not if 
you gave me a bushel of ’em.” 

After this, Horace -was disgusted -with his 
little friend, not remembering that there arc 
a great many excuses to be made for a half- 
civilized child. They had a serious quarrel, 
and Wampum’s temper proved to bc( very 
bad. If the little savage had not struck 
him, I hope Horace -would have dropped his 
society all the same ; because, after Wampum 
proved to be a thief, it -would have been 
sheer disobedience on Horace’s part to play 
-svith him an}- longer. 

Of course the plan of basket-making vas 
given up ; but our little Horace did one 


THE LITTLE INDLVN. 


165 


thing 'which was noble in a hoy of his age : 
perhaps he romemljered what his father luul 
said long ago in regard to the injured watch; 
hut, at any rate, he went to Billy Green of 
his own accord, and offered him the heauth 
fill present which he had received from the 
Indians. 

" It’s not a horse-basket, Billy : I didn’t 
get to make one,” stammered he, in a choked 
voice ; " but you said you'd call it sipiare.” 

" WheAV ! ” cried Billy, very much aston- 
ished : " -lOW look here, bul) ; that’s a little 
too l)ad ! The old thing you lugged otf was 
about worn out, anyhow. Don’t want any of 
your fancy baskets : so just carry it back, 
my fine little shaver.” 

To say that Horace was very happy, would 
not half express the delight he felt as he ran 
home "with the beautiful basket on his arm, 
his "owncst own,” beyond the right of dis- 
pute. 


CAl’TAIX nor. ACE. 


1G(3 

The Indians disappeared (piite suddenly 5 
and perhaps it was nothing surprising that, 
the very next morning after they left, 
grandpa Parlin should find his beautiful 
melon-pateh stripped nearly bare, with 
nothing left on the vines but a few miser- 
able green little melons. 


A i‘LEAf5-lAT SURPRISE. 


1G7 


CHAPTER XII. 

A PLEASANT SURPRISE. 

It’s too bad,” said Horace to liis sister, 
" that I didn’t get to make baskets ; I’d have 
^rowii rich so soon, ^^'hat would you try 

O 

to do next ? ” 

" Pick berries,” suggested Grace. 

And that very afternoon they both went 
blackberry ing with Susy and aunt Madge. 
They had a delightful time. Horace could 
not help missing Pincher very much: still, 
in spite of the regret, it was a happier day 
than the one he and Peter Grant had spent 
"in the Pines.” He was beginning to find, 
as all children do, how hard it is to get uj? 


CAPTAIN IIOKACE. 


i ?;8 

" a good time ” when you are pricked by a 
guilty conscience, and how easy it is to be 
happ3^ when j’ou arc doing right. 

Tliey did not leave the woods till the sun 
began to sink, and reached home quite tired, 
but as merry as larks, with baskets nearly 
full of berries. 

When Horace timidl}' told aunt Madge 
that he and Grace wanted to sell all the^' 
had gathered, his aunt laughed, and said she 
would buy the fruit if the}' wished, but 
Avbndercd what they Avanted to do Avith the 
inone}^ : she supposed it Avas for the soldiers. 

'■ I Avant to give it to ina,” rejilied Horace, 
in a loAv voice ; for he did not Avish his aunt 
Louise to overnear. " She hasirt more than 
three bills in her pocket-book, and it’s time 
fur me to begin to take care of her.” 

" Ah,” said aunt Madge, Avith one of her 
bright smiles, ” there is a secret draAver in 


A I'LEASAXT SUnPRISE. 


169 


her writing-desk, dear, that has ever so 
much money in it. She isn’t poor, my 
child, and slie didn’t mean to make yon 
think so, for your mother wouldn’t deceive 
you.” 

"Not poor?” cried Horace, his face bright- 
ening suddenly ; and he turned half a somer- 
set, stopping in the midst of it to ask how 
much a drum would cost. 

The mouth being now out, it was time to 
show the blue book to IMrs. Clifford. Hor- 
ace looked it over with some anxiety. On 
each page were the letters "D.,”"B. W.,” 
"B. G. P.,” and "F.,” on separate lines, one 
above another. But there were no figures 
before any of the letters but the "B. W.’s ; ” 
and even those figures had been growing 
rather smaller, as you could see by looking 
carefully. 

"Now, Grace,” said her little brother, 


170 


C.\.i’TAlX HORACE. 


/ 

"you’ll U'll in;i that the bad words aren’t 
swearin’ words ! I never did say such, 
though some of the fellows do, and those 
that sro to Sabbath School too.” 

"Yes, I’ll tell her,” said Grace; "but she 
knows well enough that you never talk aii}"- 
ining worse than lingo.” 

"I haven’t disobeyed, nor blown powder, 
nor told lies.” 

"No, indeed,” said Grace, delighted. "To 
no sure, you’ve forgotten, and slammed 
doors, and lost things ; but you know I 
didn’t set that down.” * 

I wish all little girls felt as much interest 
in their younger brothers as this sister felt 
in Horace. Grace had her faults, of which 
I might have told you if I had been writing 
the book about her ; but she loved Horace 
dearly, kept his little secrets whenever 
she promised to do so, and was always gkid 
to have him do right. 


A I’LEASAXT SUUPEISE. . 


171 


Mrs, Clifford av;is pleased witli the idea of 
die blue book, and kissed Horace and Grace, 
' lying they grew dearer to her eA'^ery day of 
their lives. 

One night, not long after this, Horace 
went to the post-office for the mail. This 
was nothing new, for ho had often gone 
before. A crowd of men were sitting in 
chairs and on the door-stone and counter, 
listening to the news, which some one was 
reading in a loud, clear voice. 

AVithout speaking, the postmaster gave 
Horace three letters and a newspaper. After 
tucking the letters into his raglan pocket, 
Horace rolled the paper into a hollow tube, 
peeping through it at the largo tree standing 
opposite the post-office, and at the patient 
horses hitched to the posts, waiting for their 
masters to home out. 


172 


CAPTAIN IlOHACE. 


lie listened for some time to the dreadful 
aeooimt of a late battle, thinking of his dear 
father, as he always did when he heard war- 
news. But at last remembering that his 
grandfather would be anxious to have the 
daily paper, he started for home, though 
rather against his will. 

" I never did sec such a fuss as they 
make,” thought he, "if anybody’s morc’n a 
minute goim^ to the office and back.” 

"Is this all? ” said aunt iNIadgc, as Horace 
gave a letter to grandma, one to aunt Louise, 
and the paper to his grandfather. 

"Why, yes, ma’am, that’s all,” replied 
Horace, faintly. It did seem, to be sure, as 
if Mr. Pope had given him three letters ; 
but as he coild not find another in his 
pocket, he supposed he must be mistaken, 
and said nothing about it. He little knew 
what a careless thing he had done, and soon 


A PLEASANT SURPRISE. 


173 


went to bed, forgetting post-offices and 
letters in a strange dream of little Wam- 
pum, who had a bridle on and was hitched 
to a post ; and of the Indian girl’s ear-rings, 
which seemed to have grown into a pair of 
shining gold muskets. 

A few mornings after the mistake about 
the letter, Mrs. Clifford sat incr-ding Hor- 
ace’s raglan. She emptied the pockets of 
twine, fish-hooks, jack-knife, pebbles,, co])- 
pers, and nails; but still something rattled 
when she touched the jacket ; it seemed to bo 
paper. She thrust in her finger, and there, 
between the outside and lining, was a ernm- 
pied, worn letter, addressed to "Miss ]\Iar- 
garct Pari in.” 

"What docs this mean?” thought Mrs. 
Clifford. "Horace must have carried the 
letter all summer.” 

But upon looking at it again, slic .saw th.at 


I 


174 


CAPTAIN HOP ACE. 


it was mailed at Washington about two 
weeks before — ''a soldier’s letter.” She 
carried it down to Margaret, who was busy 
making cream-cakes. 

"Let me see,” said aunt Louise, peeping 
over Mrs. Clifford’s shoulder, and laugliing. 
"No, it’s not Mr. Augustus Allen’s writing; 
but how do you know somebody hasn’t 
written it to tell you he is sick?” 

Aunt Madge grew quite pale, dropped the 
egg-b®uter, and carried the letter into the 
nursery to read it by herself. She opened 
it with trembling fingers ; but before she 
had read two lines he^ fingers trembled 
worse than ever, her heart throbbed fast, 
the room seemed to reel about. 

There was no bad news in the letter, you 
may be sure of that. She sat reading it 
over and over again, while the tears ran 
down her cheeks, and the sunshine in her 


A PLEASANT SU I! PRISE. 


IT.’i 

eyes dried them aguiii. Then she folded 
her hands together, and humbly thanked (lod 
for his loving kindness. 

When she was sure her sister INIaria hud 
gone up stairs, she ran out to the kitchen, 
whispering, — 

"O, mother ! O, Louise ! ” but broke down 
by laughing. 

"What does ail the child?” said Mrs. 
Purlin, laughing too. 

^Margaret tried again to speak, but thi.s 
time burst into tears. 

"'^here, it’s of no use,” she sobbed : "I’m 
so happy that it’s really dreadful. Pn: 
afraid somebod}'" may die of jo\'.” 

"I’m more afraid somebody’ll die of curi- 
osity,” said aunt Louise : " do speak quick.” 

"Well, Henry Clifford is alive,” said Mar- 
garet : "that’s the blessed truth! Now 
hush ! We must be so careful how we tell 
Maria ! ” 


17(5 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


Mrs. Parlin caught INIargaret by the shoiil- 
(ler, and gasped for breath. Louise dropped 
into a chair. 

"What do you mean? What have you 
heard?” they both cried at once. 

" fie was taken off the field for dead ; but 
life was not quite gone. lie lay for weeks 
just breathing, and that was all.” 

"But why did no one let us know it?” 
said Louise. " Of course Maria would have 
gone to him at once.” 

" There was no one to write ; and when 
Henry came to himself there was no hope 
of him, except by amputation of his loft 
arm ; and after that operation he was very 
low again.” 

"O, why don’t you give us the letter,” 
said Louise, "so we can sec for ourselves?” 

But she was too excited to read it ; and 
while she was trying to collect her ideas, 


A PLEASANT SrPPPISE. 


177 


aunt Madge had to hunt for graiidina’s spec- 
tacles ; and then the three looked over the 
surgeon’s letter together, sometimes all talk- 
ing at once. 

Captain Cliflbrd would be in ISIaine as 
soon as possible ; so the letter said. A 
young man was to come with him to take 
care of him, and they Avere to travel very 
slowly indeed ; might be at home in a fort- 
night. 

"They may be here to-night,” said Mrs. 
Parlin. 

This letter had l)een Avritten to prepare 
the family for Captain Clifford’s arrival. It 
Avas expected that aunt Madge Avould break 
the news to his Avife. 

" It’s such a pity that little flyaAvay of a 
Horace didn’t give you the letter in time,” 
said Louise : " and then Ave might have had 
some days to get used to it.” 


CAPTAIN HORACE. 


" Wait a minute, dear,” said aunt Madge, 
as Susy came in for a drink of -water : 
" please run up and ask aunt ]\laria to come 
iown stairs. Now, mother,” she added, 
'you are the one to tell the story, if you 
please.” 

"We can all break it to her by degrees,” 
said Mrs. Parliu, twisting her checked apron 
nervously. 

When Mrs. Clifford entered the kitchen, 
she saw at once that something had hap- 
pened. Her mother, with a flushed face, 
was opening and shutting the stove door. 
Margaret was polishing a pic-plate, with 
tears in her eyes, and Louise had seized a 
sieve, and appeared to be breaking eggs into 
it. Nobody wanted to speak first. 

"What do you say to hearing a story?” 
h (tered Louise. . 

" 0, you poor woman,” exclaimed Mar 


A PLEASANT SURPRISE. 


179 


garct, seizing iSIrs. Clifford by both hands : 
"you look so sorrowful, dear, as if nothing 
would ever make you happy again. Can 
you believe we have a piece of good news 
for you?” ^ 

"For me?” jNIrs. Clifford looked bewil- 
dered. 

" Good news for you,” said Louise, droi)- 
ping the sieve to the floor : " yes, indeed 1 
O, Maria, we thought Henry was killed ; but 
he isn’t ; it’s a mistake of the papers. He’s 
alive, and coming home to-night.” 

All this as fast as she could speak. No 
w'onder Mrs. Clifford was shocked ! First 
she stood quiet and amazed, gazing at her 
sister with fixed eyes: then she screamed 
and would have fallen if her mother anc 
Margarec had not caught her in their arms. 

" O, I have killed her,” cried Louise : " I 
didn’t mean to speak so (piick ! Henry is 


180 


CAPTAIX HORACE. 


almost dead, Maria; he i.s nearhj dead, I 
mean ! He’s just alive ! ” 

"Louise, l)ring some water at once,” said 
IMis. Parlin, sternly. 

" O, mother,” sobbed Louise, returning 
with the water, "I didn’t mean to be so 
hasty ; but you might have known I would : 
you should have sent me out of the room.” 

This was very mueh the way Prudy talked 
when she did wrong : she had a funny way 
of blaming other people. 

It is always unsafe to tell even joyful 
news too suddenly ; but Louise’s thoughts 
lessness had not done so much harm as they 
all feared. INIrs. Clifford recovered from 
the shock, and in an hour or two was won- 
derfully calm, looking so perfectly happy 
that it was delightfid just to gaze at her 
face. 

She wanted the pleasure of telling the 


A PLEASANT SURPRISE. 


181 


cliil'lrcn the story 'svitli her own lips. Grace 
was fairly wild with joy, kissing everybody, 
and declaring it was " too good for any- 
thing.” She was too happy to keep still, 
'while as for Horace, he was too happy to 
talk. 

" Then uncle Henry wasn’t gone to 
heaven,” cried little Prudy : " hasn’t he 
been to heaven at all?” 

"\o, of course not,” said Susy: "didn’t 
you hear ’em say he’d be here to-night ? — 
Now you’ve got on the nicest kind of a 
dress, and if you spot it up ’twill be a\^fui.” 

"I guess,” pursued Prudy, "the man that 
shooted found ’twas uncle Henry, and so he 
didn’t Avant to kill him doAvn dead.” 

Hoav the family found time to do so many 
things that day, I do not knoAv, especially as 
(\ach one Avas in somebody’s Avay, and the 
children under everybody’s feet. But before 


182 


CAPTAIN noil ACE. 


night the jiaiitry was full of nice things, the 
whole house was as fresh as a rose, and the 
parlors were adorned with autumn flowers 
and green garlands. 

Not only the kerosene lamps, but all the 
old oil lamps, were filled, and every candle- 
stick, whether brass, iron, or glass, was 
used to hold a sperm candle ; so that in the 
evening the house at every window was all 
ablaze with light. The front door stood 
wide open, and the jiiazza and part of the 
lawn were as bright as day. The double 
gate had been unlatched for hours, and 
everybody was waiting for the carriage to 
drive up. 

The hard, uncomfortable stage, which 
Horace had said was like a baby-jumper, 
would never do for a sick man to ride in : 
so Billy Green had driven to the cars in his 
easiest carriage, and aunt Madge had gone 


A PLEASANT SUKPPtlSE. 


183 


with him, for she was afraid neither Billy 
mn’ the gentleman who was with Captain 
Clhford would know how to wrap the 
shawls about him carefully enough. 

1 ^ould never describe the joyful meeting 
which took place in those brilliantly lighted 
parlors. It is very rarely that such wonder- 
ful happiness falls to any one’s lot in this 
world. 

While the smiles are yet bright on their 
faces, while Grace is clinging to her father’s 
neck, and Horace hugs his new " real drum ” 
in one arm, embracing his dear papa with 
the other, let us take our leave of them and 
the whole family for the present, with many 
kind good-by’s. 


SOP HIEr MAYIS^rLITTLE^FOLKS ” BOqi«'^ 



^“By an d .by.the.col ts came to the kitchen window, whic^wa^open, and_ 
^nl in theii^OM«jto_a?kJ'or something to eat. Flaiie gave_^em piece* of, 

i|)r*a4.y 


RPTin TME^ o r onr.T O .‘tlazi b rBizzni IaEBiEi;> 




SOPHIE MAY’S ••LITTLE-FOLKS” BOOKS. 


LITTLE FOLKS ASTRAY. 

** This Is A book (or the litlloouGS of ihe nursery or play-room. 
Ii Introduces all the old (avotites of the rrnity and Dotty books irilb 
natv characters and funny lucldeuls. It U a cbanuiiig book* whole- 
some and sw'eet in every respect^ and cannot fall to interest children 
under twelve yeai3 f>f age/* ChrftUiau HegUter, 


PRUDY KEEPING HOUSE. 

** How she kept It, why she kept It, and what a good time she had 
playing cook, and ivashcriifhtnan, and Ironcr, Is luld as only Sopbik 
May can tell stories. All the funny ^ylngs and doings of the queer- 
est and ennningesi Hole woman ever tiicked away In iJie covers of a 
boob will please Uulo fnika and grouro people alike-** — Pre&s. 


AUNT MADGE’S STORY. 

‘•Tells of a little nilfe of i girl, who gels Into every concelvaBla 
bind of scrape and out again with llgbimng rapidity, through tlie 
whole pretty little book. How she nearly drowns her bosom friend, 
and afterwarda saves her ty a very rem^kable display of UtUc-girl 
courage. How abe gets left by a train ^Qf ears.hbd loses her kitten 
and Anils it again, and Cs prascot^ with e I>al)y slsl^ ‘ coine down 
from heaven,* with lots of smart* and funny sayings.** — Boston 
TVoeeUer. 


UENN' SHIRLEV'S BOOKSi 

... . ' - ^ -an- 



i;y{>yrl||lu, ItisQ, (>/ Lfi SairAiU). 

8f£CIMi:S lUUSmTlOH rSOM “UTTI.e MISS \7£SZt.*' 


PENN 8HIRLEVS BOOKSJ, 



^^Cdpyrlgltt, 1833, by Lee and Shepard. 

'OTCI3^ ILLUSTRATIOH FROa "LITTLE MIS3 WEEZTS SIST^" 


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